


Pyrrhic Victory

by Maka (JanaTearce)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Adopted Children, Assassins In Training, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Character Death, Child Death, Closure, Consequences of Affairs, Death in Childbirth, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Emotionally Distressed Victorians, Ethan Frye Themed, Family Feels, Forced Cannibalism, Frye Family, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, Imprisonment, Jack the Ripper Murders, Jack's First Murder Escapade, Jacob Doesn't Know How To Parent, Jacob Makes Questionable Life Choices, Jacob and Maxwell Flashbacks, Late Night Conversations, Major Character Injury, Maxwell Roth Themed, More Blood and Crime, Multi, Murder Mystery is No Mystery just Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Poly George aka Oh No They're Hot, Polyamorous Character, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC, Pre-Jack the Ripper DLC, Relationship(s), Sages (Assassin's Creed), Sibling Bonding, Stillborn baby, and dead bodies, but he tries and he's actually kinda good at it, cuddle buddies, he's like, it's not pretty, learning how to parent, subject at least once every chapter, there are goddamn many, there's blood and everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 199,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaTearce/pseuds/Maka
Summary: First and foremost this is a story about closure and the events after Starrick's death. Secondly, it's a story about Jacob's life choices and how Maxwell relates to them in his death. Thirdly, it's a story about re-kindling his relationship with Evie.





	1. Two Necessary Evil

**Author's Note:**

> This story is driven by self-indulgence. Self-indulgence and Jacob's questionable life choices. Tags and characters will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> Definition: A Pyrrhic victory is a victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat. Someone who wins a Pyrrhic victory has also taken a heavy toll that negates any true sense of achievement.

_London, April 1868_

Dealing with George and the Assassin council was a necessary evil to secure London, and one that Evie and Jacob were willing to take on, despite their lack of choice in the matter and the dread they felt towards the approaching event. It was either this or risking the city's downfall, but even that wouldn't be as bad as George's snarky tongue-lashing, Jacob knew. Yet Evie had only rolled her eyes, ever so certain that she would get away largely unscathed. But this was George they were talking about and Jacob knew better. Evie would get her fair share of yelling.

Then, of course, there was the council, their own personal hydra. All they knew about the council came from their father or George or as of most recent, Henry because Evie had insisted they ask him what he knew. It was tremendously little, but it did bring up the fact that he had written George to acquire the help he so desperately had been seeking, as well as the fact that all his letters had been met with silence. A revelation which surprised neither of the twins, as this was very much how they knew him. Ever careful, ever steadfast in character and opinion. And in their collective frustration about George, the three of them found a short moment of diversion from their dire situation, Evie and Jacob taking turns in mimicking the stern assassin to brighten the mood with laughter.

However, it also brought up the fact that they hadn't travelled to London upon anyone's request, but out of their own desire. News which had Henry unexpectedly quiet at first, then there was a brief but distinct flash of disappointment across his face, which soon dissolved into anger and him pacing up and down the office above his shop. Anger which Evie managed to soothe with her smart mouth and a caressing hand on his arm, which then allowed them to move forward with the topic.

What they needed was simple. One week so they could sort things out in Crawley. London surely wouldn't fall within a week, would it? Jacob was sure of it, but Evie not so much.

Including Henry and the both of them their number was less than twenty, barely enough to cover the security of all the boroughs, but it had to do. On the upside, they still had the Rooks, who by now outnumbered the blighters three to one in most boroughs. Having lost all gang leaders and Maxwell Roth they had gone back to their original, largely disorganised state, which made them easy to keep down. For now.

In the long run, their lack of resources and proper control over the boroughs would come back to bite them. And despite the many alliances Henry had made over the years, even their own, none of them were able to cooperate to the needed degree. Ned, as much as help as he was, had his own crime regime to organise and take care of. Clara, albeit always willing to help in exchange for favours and goods, couldn't be expected to go up against the Blighters. Despite the fact that the children of Babylon Alley were far from helpless – at the end of the day were still just kids.  
And even though of repeated, considerable help Frederick Abberline remained a Sergeant, and Jacob and Evie knew that their ties to the police could never be more than that – ties. Which only left Darwin and Dickens, both undeniably smart and of help in several situations, and yet they were old men who had no business with the Assassins beyond the occasional overlapping interests. Duleep Singh, of course, had his own battles to fight, which brought them back to the small group of assassins huddled together in the spacious flat above Henry's shop.

Half of them only newly recruited, less than the few months the twins had spent in London ago. It was a terribly sad sight.

“That's all.” It was half a question, half a statement and Jacob pulled the corners of his mouth back in dissatisfaction.

“Where's the rest?” Evie continued his thought. Looking equally concerned with their situation.

There was no answer from Henry, just a quiet sigh and an open shrug, his open arms motioning towards the recruits, but truth be told neither of them needed an answer. It was obvious why this was all they were left with. Gang fights and desperate attempts to overthrow Starrick had thinned their lines, but the worst offender had been George's silence.

“Alright!” Evie clasped her hands together, forcing a smile onto her lips. “We can make this work.” She sounded surer of herself than she felt, Jacob could see it in her tense posture. She looked at Henry and him, then back to the recruits, trying her best to radiate and ooze confidence.

Most of it was a matter of questions and what Henry knew about their recruits from working with them, and poring over a map while trying almost desperately to organise their limited strength. Any gaps were supposed to be filled with rooks, and former blighter hideouts were supposed to be re-purposed in the near future. It was a good plan, Evie even acknowledged his leadership of the rooks – “your rooks”, she had called them, but that didn't keep them from fighting over how to best make use of their limited numbers.

“No,” Evie said in protest of Jacob's arrangement of the pins on their map. “No, that doesn't work Jacob, you've left Whitechapel and Westminster almost entirely unprotected.” She was scolding him now and Jacob couldn't help the groan that came from his mouth.

“Yes, of course, Whitechapel has Henry, we just give him a surplus of rooks – the borough's safe, right Greenie?”

Henry nodded, “sure, if I can assign them tasks there should be no problem, I'm still better at planning than fieldwork.”

“See,” Jacob's expression said, but Evie only pointed at Westminster with a frown that demanded an explanation.

“Westminster has almost as many coppers as it has Rooks and the Royal Guard on top of it, we just put one of the more skilled ones there and focus our forces on places that are in more dire need or protection like, the Strand or–“

She didn't let him finish his sentence, “that's too risky.”

“Everything we do is risky, Evie!” Jacob retorted, throwing up his hands.

It took almost all of the remaining day to organise their map, Jacob and Evie in a constant argument about how the boroughs should be secured best, with only Henry to step in. Occasionally one of them shot a question to the recruits (it was hard to consider them initiates just yet), and when they were finally done Evie set out to relocate them, while Jacob gathered the rooks, distributing them in shares as needed among the boroughs. Seeing their plan put into action made him feel better than poring over a map which had only brought him a mild headache, although it might have also been the arguments with his sister. Even Evie seemed a little more at ease when they returned to Henry to report, but only a little.

The mood between them wasn't as tense as it had been in the previous weeks, but they were still feeling the aftermath.

Contacting Ned was the easy part, smuggling several wagons of cargo nearly unseen through London the hard part. Neither of them asked where he had gotten the weapons, simply glad for the easy supply. Fortunately, there was no need to make the Rooks and Clara's children acquainted, as they already were. Which they found out when they went to see and tell Clara about their plans to leave for a week. She had taken the news much better than Frederick as well, who seemed to be torn between joy that Jacob couldn't cause any trouble for a week and horror about London falling in their absence. It had been almost amusing.

It was almost eerie how absolutely nothing hindered their plans of returning to Crawley, or maybe it was just like how the realisation that Starrick was dead and Queen Victoria had knighted them hadn't quite sunken in still and on some mornings the peace seemed surreal still.

Evie had tasked him to buy train tickets, something Jacob felt quite stupid doing. Stupid because they were only going to travel to Crawley which was all but exciting, and stupid because it was an unnecessary novelty. For the largest part of their lives, they had been stowaways, hitching the trains of their enemies. Yet he had dutifully fulfilled his task without a hitch or that much complaining.

He had the sneaking suspicion that Evie would have preferred Henry to come along, however, one of them had to stay behind in London and it wasn't Henry who was overdue for a scolding from George. From his seat, at the window, Jacob had an excellent view of the two of them. He hadn't meant to stare, but the deck of cards was resting idly in his hands and his thoughts were treading dangerous territory. Dangerous not because of their nature, dangerous because there was essentially no time to think about these things now, they would only cause unnecessary, unwanted emotional turmoil. And yet he couldn't help but wonder what she would say, although Jacob thought he knew that all too well.

Tearing his eyes off was no use either, they just darted to the next happy couple bidding their goodbyes, so Jacob pretended to be enormously interested in the train station's architecture. Only that he wasn't and that he felt incredibly stupid for thinking about Maxwell right now and even more because he couldn't help it. 

“If this is your way of disapproving or attempting to watch over me, brother dearest, I can assure you there is no need,” Evie smirked as she sat down across from him. “Or are you jealous?”

“As if!” Jacob dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand, pulling a face. At last, he laid the card deck on the table, whereas beneath it their legs comfortably, albeit tentative, entangled, and he leaned back. “Care to join me?” He asked when he saw Evie's eyes resting on the card stack.

“No, thank you,” she told him, shaking her head and pulling a book out from under her coat. With a sigh Jacob began to set up a game to play by himself, while Evie opened her book, searching for the page she had left off on. It was only a short trip to Crawley, which was just about half an hour and just about long enough for Jacob to finish a game by himself, and even though they sat in relative silence Jacob felt for the first time since they had defeated Starrick their words ringing true. As hard as it had become, right now they had found a small piece of comfort they were familiar with. The cards, the book, the legs entangled below the table occasionally tapping at each other to get the wanted attention. Each in their own personal bubble, yet comfortably attuned to the other.

 

_Crawley, April 1868_

Compared to any of London's train stations Crawley's was dreadful if Jacob had been asked for his opinion. Too few people, too few anything. But fortunately no George either. That allowed him to relax, at least for the moment.

They had no proper plan other than to survive his scolding, and possibly let Evie do most or all of the talking since that usually got them out of trouble the easiest. Both of them knew all too well how it would go. It wasn't like George had been a new addition to their lives, he had simply taken over the role of their father after his death.

In an attempt to lighten the mood they raced each other to George's house. The mill still stood in all its glory where they had left it behind when they had left Crawley less than half a year ago. Still no George, so the twins went to find a market and something to fill their bellies.

“I've missed Crawley,” Evie said between bites. They were sitting on a roof, watching the market, enjoying their meal.

She had said that before, sometimes when he had come back to the train she had mentioned it in passing. Whether or not sympathy was expected Jacob didn't know, so he decided to stay quiet for a moment. But only a moment. “It's nice enough,” he leaned back against a chimney, stretching out his legs on the tiles. “Bit boring if you ask me, but you've always been oddly fond of boring things, Evie.”

“Books. Are. Not. Boring. Jacob. You would know if you ever actually read one.”

“I did! … And it bored me, Evie!” Exasperated she sighed, rolling her eyes at him almost completely out of habit. So his tone softened. “Let's not fight, at least not when there's still George to face...” Jacob grimaced, much to Evie's amusement. Still, she agreed.

George still wasn't in sight, when they returned to his house, but now it made the twins weary. So they scouted the mill's close surroundings. Eventually giving up and seating themselves on the stone steps which led to the front door. For the most part they sat in silence. Talking only when something came to their minds.

She saw him first. His golden hue in the distance, Jacob only noticed when Evie stood and brushed the dust off her clothes. Slowly he followed her example, trying to make it look casual and calm, but anxiousness was stringing him up on taunt wires.

George's face was furrowed with a mix of emotions, but mostly anger and relief. “What the hell were you thinking?!” Evie hadn't even been given the chance to get a word out – he knew them to well after all. “Running off just like that! Did you even think– Whose idea was it? Yours?” His index finger was painfully boring itself into Jacob's chest.

“Instigator...” Evie muttered high-strung under her breath, but it was loud enough for George and Jacob to hear. Both glared at her now. Then, in a more confident attempt to confront George she added, “and we saved London – Together.” Something warm fluttered in Jacob's chest when she said that.

“Yes, I've heard plenty about that,” George growled. “Of your… disastrous success.” No matter how you turned his words, his tone made them all but a compliment. Not even Evie could turn that around for herself. “What were you thinking, you ignored my orders, your father's–“

“Oh, just like you ignored Henry's letters? How many times did he write you? Four, wasn't it Jacob, it was four times, you ignored the warnings of the man watching over London, if it hadn't been for us, the city would have gone to the dogs!”

Evie's words cut deep. “It wasn't time,” George insisted, growling. Sending an unwanted shiver down Jacob's spine that made him uncomfortably shift his weight.

“No, it was high time,” Jacob cut in despite all that. “Whatever's in those letters doesn't cover half of the truth, we were there, we stood up to Starrick and his gang leaders and subordinates and Evie even found her magical Piece of Pottery… Cloth… Eden, Piece of Eden,” he was stumbling about those words, glancing at his sister apologetically now. She seemed surprised for the barest moment and then shrugged.

“We need your help, George.” Evie said, all clear-eyed sincerity.

“Of course you do.” The words were a grim assessment of their situation. George took a deep breath. “What you did was dangerous, reckless and don't even get me started on your disobedience – What do you need?”

Jacob smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “Now we're talking, we need you to help us convince the council to send assassins to London–“

“– Henry's recruited initiates, but they're far too few and without proper training, and London is more vulnerable now than ever if we want to have even the smallest chance of securing it for us we need–“

“– forces, fast and now, George,” Jacob urged on. “Give us something to work with.”

The anger on the other's face had softened into something grim, but still more willing to listen than before. It was almost paternal resignation that showed on his face. “Let's continue this inside, I want to know everything about your little adventure, and I'll know when you're lying so don't even think you can try.” His eyes were fixed Jacob, but quickly darted over to Evie when she seemed to think herself safe. George's expression read, “I had expected better of you.” Likely only marginally, since he knew them too well, but nonetheless it was there.

Cautious Jacob and Evie followed inside like little kids caught stealing apples from a neighbour's tree, the wooden floors creaked under their boots. George kept the mill intact and running, as a cover for the Assassins. They had played here as children, playing games while the men worked and had come covered in flour and dirt and dust into this house at the faintest smell of someone's cooking. The mill still smelled the same too. A few months ago all this had felt just like yesterday to Jacob, but now it seemed like an eternity ago.

George had procured a bottle of less dubious alcohol and poured himself a drink, then Jacob. Evie declined. “Talk,” George said, motioning towards the table with his glass. 

Jacob glanced at Evie for approval to open his mouth. The alcohol burnt his throat in a good way, but for a second he had the stupid thought it might spill something he didn't want to and suddenly drinking didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. He kept the glass anyway to busy his hands. “What's there to say?” Jacob rested his legs on an empty chair while Evie chose to remain standing. It was something she had been doing since they were kids, when she wanted to be taken seriously she stood with her best posture, clean-cut-smart-and-stern. Her clear blue eyes fixed on George in an unblinking, unnerving stare. “We took a train to London and we took down Starrick.”

Of course, that wasn't what George wanted to hear, Jacob could see it in the way his mouth twisted, but he couldn't keep himself from pushing. From testing his limits.

It was Evie who broke the silence between them. She started by talking about Henry, how they had meant to seek him out, but he had found them instead. About Kaylock and the gangs and their train hideout. About the rope darts, Aleck and his concoctions. Her plan to find the Piece of Eden and his own plans of freeing the boroughs, Henry's notes and the targets. Darwin and Dickens and Frederick Abberline. No direct mention of Maxwell Roth and indirect either, Jacob was quite proud of himself for keeping the name off his tongue. Halfway through it she had sat down across the table, visibly relaxed, while she and Jacob went back and forth in their explanation, finishing each other's sentences or correcting the other's apparent false telling of events. Ending in an argument which had the sole purpose to one-up each other in denouncing the other. Like the good old times. A challenge was a challenge and neither of them was going to lose.

It was when they got to the ball that their arguments stopped, but neither of them seemed to get out more than two sentences at most before the other interrupted. Starrick. The Piece of Eden. The Dance. The underground vault and their knighting. It all tumbled from their mouths in relived emotions of that night.

George didn't take the news of their knighting all too well, yet despite his exasperation, he seemed to be more concerned about their ties to the government, though Evie did agree with him on that aspect and for now that was seemingly enough to calm his nerves.

Running a hand down his face, George sighed. Now that all had been said and explained, he attempted to return to why they had shown up in the first place. – Help.

All by himself, George would be a valuable addition to their associates, however, since he would be unable to leave Crawley for good, not much help in the end. What they needed was the council's approval, what they needed were resources and assassins. As the alcohol had relaxed him he had taken the moments when Evie talked to consider him, smiling at the irritation and confusion he could read on George's face whenever he caught his stare as it curiously wandered over his face and body. From his eyes to his lips to a thoughtless gaze that he couldn't help when his thoughts went astray to what better use those hands could be brought. The loose shirt revealing a strip of skin and his collarbones.

“And a plan.” George sighed, shooting Jacob a questioning glance who only gave a sly grin. He had gotten up and retrieved a map of London from one of the many shelves in the living room. “A concrete, well thought out plan, the council will give you neither rank nor resources if you can't prove to them that you know how to use either.” Which was a nice way of saying they would otherwise take the city from them. He weighed down the map with a book, two cups and a bottle, then had gone to retrieve ink, a pen and paper. “I would suggest you avoid mentioning your knighting and be careful with your… Rooks, that could backfire just the same, now please tell me you have at least a couple ideas and we don't have to start from square one.”

Jacob made his best efforts to look offended. “Who do you take me for, George, a blighter?” He huffed. When that only got him a sceptical look, he tried for a more serious expression. “I cut off their every head and now they're running about aimlessly, the Rooks are of more use being able to organise themselves, and since they're ours we won't have to worry about keeping them off the streets.” For now, the words carried through even though Jacob didn't say them. Wanting to drag his eyes away from his jawline, but being unable to.

“Nice,” George replied, dry. In a tone that did things to Jacob's mind, he wished it didn't. “What if they grow restless because they're out of fights to fight.” It was a problem the Blighters faced on a daily basis and which had caused their infamous reputation, when it had only been furthered by the Templars.

“We just let them help us take out templars,” Jacob smiled. Then rolled his eyes and sighed. “We're gonna kill 'em, of course, they cause a problem – they're finished, simple as that, we can't make the same mistake as Starrick and allow them to build their own prisons… even though that would make picking them off the streets relatively easy...” It seemed to soothe George's glaring for now. Besides it was all they really had to offer. Training all the Rooks to become assassins wasn't an option, mostly because it would draw too much attention. The thought of raising an army against the Templars remained appealing nonetheless.

“Fine, how many assassins do you require?” George leaned back, taking a sip straight from the bottle, having ditched his glass during their long-winded explanation.

“Three, with some exceptions of four, for every borough there is, the Templars will be regrouping and choosing a new Grand Master soon, we have to expect them to try and take the city back from us, but once we have established ourself as a recognisable force that's not to be trifled with two should suffice, not to mention that Henry's recruits should be of use to us by then” Evie replied like the good schoolgirl that she was. Jacob could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes, despite making no attempt to argue with her about it. “That means additionally we need someone to train the initiates we have, as well as proper supplies – robes, weapons, medical supplies, tailors, all those things, London isn't prepared for a small flood of assassins just yet.”

“Fine,” that seemed to be George's new favourite word Jacob thought. And he let them squabble over the map pointing out their locations of assassin den's, some former blighter hide-outs they intended to re-purpose, and then, of course, there were Scotland Yard and Babylon Alley, while George marked where fingers tapped the paper and helped them make lists of the items they required.

Which only left them with one more point to clear. – Their ranks. Defeating Starrick, freeing London from his control and recovering a Piece of Eden had qualified them for the rank of Masters, that went without saying. Just as expected George was as critical as he was supportive, but ultimately he seemed proud of them. It was a big accomplishment after all.

It was late afternoon by the time they were done and early evening when they reached the old house. The walk had cleared Jacob's head and wasn't making him feel fuzzy (close to a headache) anymore. It wasn't technically old, but it seemed that way now because the times they had played as children in the yard seemed so far away.

With sure steps Evie had taken the lead, Jacob not being entirely sure why he followed her, but thinking that it was because he wouldn't have returned here if it weren't for her.

Inside nothing had changed, only that it smelled rather dusty now, different than what Jacob remembered, but still like the house he had grown up in. Although it didn't look too bad from what he could see. Someone must have taken care of the house in their absence, maybe George had hired a help, maybe old Nelly's daughter had come by now and then. Whoever it was, they had left some food in the kitchen and a book in the living room. Other than that the twins could find no other traces of someone inhabiting their former home.

Former because they wouldn't return to it. Evie would go to India and he would remain in London, and maybe they should pack up and allow George to use the place. The Assassins could always use some extra space. But Jacob wasn't so sure what Evie would think of that, contrary to him she seemed to fit in perfectly with this place. It was almost as if the house had always belonged to her.

She had taken the lead again and he followed close behind, which funny enough reminded him of their early childhood when they had been living with their grandmother. It had always been Evie following him through the house and garden. Always chasing him because Jacob had been the first to run off. So maybe he'd never been faster, just quicker to react, he thought absent-mindedly. His thoughts lingering with George and the unasked for feeling their meeting had conjured up. Everything had been easy with Max, but now… he didn't know what to do with himself.

Upstairs it was quieter, although there hadn't been any noise downstairs except for their footsteps, Jacob felt an added weight to the silence, just enough to weigh down heavy on him. Whilst their father had still been alive Jacob had preferred the quiet. Quiet meant their father wasn't home and he could do as he pleased. Right now he wasn't sure what to make of it. He flopped into the old, worn leather chair at his father's desk. His study had been their inevitable destination and Evie seemed to meld into it like she had always belonged here.

She walked along the shelves of books, running her fingers along their spines almost as if searching for a specific one, while Jacob made himself comfortable and ultimately decided to pick the lock on a desk drawer. Both of them knew the location of the key, but Jacob knew that breaking the lock was the worse offence. So, of course, it was what he aimed for. Blindly he reached into the open drawer and tossed Evie a piece of chocolate.

“I don't think we should eat those,” she remarked and yet unwrapped it all the same as she watched Jacob readily stuffing his face.

“Pshh- chocolate doesn't go bad,” he declared while grabbing a handful from the drawer.

Evie rolled her eyes, reminding him that his stomach ache wouldn't be her fault and stealing the candy from his hand all the same. “God, we have to find out where he bought them… we have to bring Henry some,” she sighed, and continued her little tour around the office, while Jacob watched, thinking that the house should be hers, but that it would never be. That she would go to India and leave him the city when in reality he couldn't think of a greater sign of her trust after all the chaos he caused in London. They had agreed not to tell George till things had settled and she could actually make plans with Henry to return to India, which from all that Jacob understood was a challenge in and of itself.

Unlike Evie he had spent little time going through their father's belongings after his death, unlike her he hadn't cared much for a keepsake. There was another kind of keepsake that he needed, he just hadn't found it yet and it had nothing to do with their father. He still didn't care much for him, but curiosity had taken over and the infamous desk where everything important was kept was practically begging him to spill its secrets was at his disposal.

There were records of missions, information about men and women long dead, photographs and too much about the Pieces of Eden. Despite the fact that his sister had proven right he couldn't conjure up much interest for the subject, even the journal he pushed aside after considering to open it for a while. Only when he found a photograph of Henry and their father he stopped and smirked, called for Evie to show her. And she smiled and pocketed it, saying she would have to show Henry and Jacob figured she would keep it in her notebook. Like every other important thing.

“Look”, she said, opening the journal and out fell a picture of their parents. Happy and alive and hardly like anything Jacob remembered his father to be, meanwhile there wasn't even a single memory to compare the image of his mother to. “I wish he would have told us about her.”

“Hm,” Jacob replied, sinking into the chair. Evie was leaning over his shoulder and if her hair had been open, it would have fallen past his face down onto his shoulder. There was a question he was dying to ask, but somehow it wouldn't come out. Somehow this house made his tongue heavy and soul-weary, but if Evie wanted to sleep here tonight he wouldn't leave because the only thing worse was the thought of leaving her alone in this place. As ridiculous as it sounded, even to himself because Evie was the one who belonged.

It was a stupid thing, Jacob knew, that he was unable to find sleep in this place, but he couldn't help it. At least Evie hadn't fallen asleep right next to him. Although he had never considered it a terrible thing to a shared bed with his sister, even if it was a little like having a cat falling asleep on top of you because you couldn't move without disturbing it and it was exactly the same with Evie. Even adjusting your position to a more comfortable one was dangerous.

Jacob rolled over onto his side, facing the wall, wondering if moving to the couch downstairs would solve his conundrum. Yet it would distance him from Evie – who slept next door, on the other side of the wall, because their rooms were adjoined – and as silly as that sounded to him, he would probably sleep better next to her. Yet Jacob couldn't bring himself to sneak into her room, or ask for her to stay with him, thinking that she wouldn't understand.

Their father had never liked it when they had shared a bed, at least when they had gotten older. Same for taking baths, and swapping clothes for as short as it had been possible – not that that had stopped Evie later on. Ridiculing their father's arguments had been his job, reasoning why they were stupid had been hers. It had worked out well most of the time.

With the night growing darker and time moving forward his eyes grew heavier and his thoughts began to wander towards places Jacob would prefer they weren't. There wasn't time for Maxwell and the shadow he had cast over him. Not now. And yet he thought of fire and lungs filled with smoke when he drifted off to sleep at last.

Having no memory of falling asleep, Jacob woke up confused about his whereabouts. It was only when he recognised the room around him that his memory came flooding back. Tired, Jacob rolled onto his stomach, listening for any and all sounds that might indicate Evie's whereabouts till he found her.

He dragged himself up and to the bathroom, shedding clothes without seconds thoughts before sinking into the water opposite to Evie, who had drawn her legs close to make room and now stretched them to comfortably rest of Jacob's shoulder, while he made himself equally comfortable. “Father would have given you a right telling off,” she chuckled. While Jacob splashed some water in his face, to wake up, yet the grin on his face was still tired.

“I know that's why I like bathing with you,” Jacob smirked. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, enjoying the silence which was settling comfortably over them. It was the first time, ever since they had arrived in London, he realised. The first time since then that they comfortably invading each other's personal space. “I've missed us...” He admitted just as soft, hopeful and careful as he had in the shroud's cave beneath the lake.

And Evie responded in the same soft, understanding voice, “me too.” Just like she had in the cave. Only that they both knew now that it wasn't possible to continue where they had left off. “You always had to anger him...” Both of them chuckled now, although Jacob felt no fondness for the memories came up. Just a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Do you mind?” He asked, not about whether or not she liked that he always had to anger their father, but still, occasionally sharing a bathtub. “Can't believe we still fit in here together.” Half a grin showed on Jacob's face. Idly he patted Evie's legs resting on his shoulder.

“Can't believe you still fit in here.” She prodded his shoulder with her heel. He splashed her with water in retaliation.

Their father had bathed them together for the better part of their childhood but hadn't excelled at explaining why stopping the habit was a good idea. Which had resulted in two very confused twelve-year-olds. They were used to invading each other's comfort zone – sharing baths, clothes, beds and sitting space. Half the time to get on each other's nerves.

Their father's explanations had been abysmal at their very best, leaving it to them to figure out the details. And they had. Between fights and awkward situations, they had found new comfort zones. There had always been rules to sharing the same space so it hadn't even been a new thing, just new standards, new boundaries. It had always been left to them to figure out how close was too close when it had been disgustingly cute to any adult for the first nine years of their lives when they had held hands and been practically inseparable. Glued together at the knee and attached at the hip.

“You know I would've kicked you out with your clothes still on otherwise,” she remarked. And there was no denying that, Jacob knew. Evie had kicked him out of her room and any other place plenty of times for all sorts of reasons before. She had always made sure he knew when he was invading a space he shouldn't or getting on her nerves, or really any other reason. She had always let him know when he wasn't welcome. And being her twin brother had meant he hadn't always obliged her every wish.

Evie's hair was still drying when George summoned them to go over their plans with the council, so she wore it open and for the first time in a while it could be noticed how long it had grown. They had dressed in assassin robes befitting of their future standing, which George noted with silent approval to which Jacob attribute the jump of his heart. Although he made the same stupid face as their late father when Jacob helped Evie braid and pin up her hair. Something they had picked up as children and because of that rarely considered eventful despite the looks it got them.

It had been several years since they had last set foot into the Brotherhood's headquarters, but Jacob remembered it like it was yesterday the moment he had stepped into their underground hideout. They had been sixteen and had received their hidden blades, and Jacob was still convinced their father had wanted to scare them into behaving, alas to no avail. But it was still like the same large underground library, with the thick carpets and high shelves and cluttered desks, right next door to a weaponry. Where everything that didn't decorate their walls and halls was stored. It wasn't classy so much as useful.

He couldn't hide the grin that swept across his face as they walked down the main corridor towards the council's chamber, or how he sought Evie's eyes which glinted just the same way. Although her excitement had always been quieter, more controlled, Jacob could tell she felt no different than him.

They reached a relatively large room that housed a table around which six assassins stood, the youngest among them in their late thirties. Jacob gave his best effort not to pull a face, telling himself that old assassins were a good sight because it meant that you could survive this job. Even though their chances were slim. When they entered the talking stopped and the men and women turned towards them.

It was George who urged them forward and the twins looked at each other, then at the council who beckoned them forward with the wave of a hand. Once again exchanging quick glances Evie and Jacob moved forward.

The fact that their little trip to London had not gone unnoticed was something Jacob had never given much thought but was now becoming painfully obvious as they introduced themselves and the matter which had brought them here. For all that they knew the council held the same position as George did, for all they knew freeing London had never been top priority – a dangerous, almost suicidal feat that should have been performed by assassins more experienced. And unfortunately reflected the truth. Or so it seemed. “Speak up, you have much to tell and we're curious to hear it,” a man standing behind the table who Evie, whispering, identified as someone called Edward Wells, spoke. Apparently, their father had mentioned him every now and then. There was the hint of a smile on Wells' face.

Evie stepped forward and he followed suit. “My brother and I,” she nudged him, likewise a warning in advance and a hint to play along, “would like apologise for foregoing the orders we were given, we know and acknowledge that it was wrong to do so and accept any punishment you see fit, but London needed to be freed.” She had only once broken eye contact with Wells and that was to stare every other council member down. “The city had already fallen long before we arrived, those are Mr Green's exact words, but without us is would have perished under Starrick's control, he created a monopole on child labour–“

Her words were drowned out by the distant sound of an ear-shattering explosion in Jacob's memory. He blinked, counted to ten. (Words being said did not make sense.) His own voice echoed louder in his memory than everything else in this moment. Maxwell's anger a fiery breath on his neck. (Her tone carried through if anything at all. Familiarity, that Jacob let himself be drawn towards.) All of this was just as likely to have taken place within mere seconds as within a couple minutes, because once Jacob picked up her voice again, Evie was saying, “I was eventually able to locate the Piece of Eden, through the help of Henry – Mr Green, in fact, it had been in Assassin hands all along, Edward Kenway retrieved the Shroud on one his journeys and brought it back to London.” And Jacob had no clue how much of her explanation he had missed. “His mansion not only has to go back into the hands of the Assassins, there is a vault beneath it, undiscovered by the Templars, possibly holding more information about other Pieces of Eden.”

She would have said more, Evie always had more to say, but a woman raised her hand, silencing her. “May I ask, where the Shroud is now, did you bring it with you?”

“ _Safe_ ,” Evie insisted promptly.

Jacob added, “safe as the Queen's necklace.”

“It's located in a vault beneath Buckingham Palace, and the only plans detailing the vault's location are within the palace, which makes it unattainable for the Templars as all their ties to the palace are cut as of now and the Queen is favourable to our cause.” Evie paused. “My brother and I can vouch for the Shrouds authenticity, Starrick wore it when we fought him and the wounds we dealt him should have finished him long before we did, which would not have been possible without Hen– Mr Green's aid.” While her words had ebbed, she had turned her head to look at Jacob.

“Speaking of which,” Jacob took the cue to speak with a pleased smile. “Greenie's been a dutiful student, gathered all sorts of useful information on Starrick's men, I just had to follow the breadcrumbs and take them down.” All but one. Maxwell had found him and not the other way around. “We were also able to oppose the Blighters, Starrick's gang, with the help or the former Clinkers, the only remaining street gang to oppose them, they're called the Rooks now and they outnumber the Blighters in every borough, not only that, but the boroughs are free – of child labour and Starrick's gang leaders, the head of the Blighters,” Jacob could feel a lump in his throat, it was like someone had shoved smoke down his airway, “is also no more.” He pressed his lips together. “The Templars have no control over London, this is our chance to seize it and give it back to the people who built it!” He knew he was quoting Henry now, but Jacob figured he would rather appreciate it. Maybe Evie recognised his words too.

“Henry has made an effort to gather recruits, but they lack proper training and weapons, we cannot hope to hold the city like this, we have to act before the Templars choose a new Grand Master, while their influence is still crippled and they are regrouping.”

They were waiting for the flood, Jacob thought and forced himself to focus on the council. “London is as good as ours, we just need your help to make it work!”

Their eyes, previously fixed on the men and women in front of them, now darted over to George to reaffirm that they weren't doing everything wrong.

It all happened in lapses of time, moments were seconds had been drawn out agonisingly slow, while the council spoke and tension, thick enough to cut with a knife, filled the air. But then a wave of ease seemed to wash over the entire room, and the twins stepped forward to backup their plan with lists and maps, knowing they could rest easy now.

London would remain theirs. 

His excited grin swept over onto Evie's face, when they looked at each other, awaiting the announcement of their new titles. It was all that was left to do, and ultimately much less ceremonial than when they had been knighted, but the feeling was much the same. Jacob would have vouched it was for sentimental value when they picked George to do the announcement, as he had been their late father's best friend. But the spark in Wells' eyes told a different story, knowing very well how everyone involved felt about this. And that, in turn, amused Jacob.

“Think you can handle it?” - “We'll be on our best behaviour, just for you, George.” The spoke quietly, with charming smiles, only for George to hear who met their promise stone-faced. An expression where pride mixed with the understanding that he knew them too well to think this a good idea after all flickered across his face.

And yet he announced them Masters, addressing each of them with a voice more solemn than warm. But when they were presented with a set of hidden blades, one for each of them, he said, “I know your father would be proud of you, both of you.” His eyes lingered a little longer than usually on Jacob, as he ended his sentence, quite concerned to make sure he was included and knew of it. Jacob stared, thinking it was meant to be a stern reminder he tried to shrug it off with a look of innocence, even though the intense stare sent an unwanted flair of heat down his spine.

Fastening the straps of the hidden blade was just another small Christmas for Jacob. He had been looking forward to this moment more than any other of their little trip and while Evie marvelled the design and sharpness of the blade, Jacob attempted to slice through thin air and grinned at her and George. Much like when Henry had given them their first kukris.

A third box with a third blade was brought forward, while the thrill of their presence still lingered, and Jacob felt the need to explain that unfortunately, neither of them would be growing a third arm anytime soon. As cool as that would have been.

Wells explained. “We are aware that Mr Green was of vital help for you in your endeavour, and we want to acknowledge his work in the city throughout the past year, we would like you to give this to him.”

Smiling, Evie took the box. “I am sure he feels just as honoured as we do,” from the corner of her eye she glanced at Jacob, much like Wells did, but he pretended not to see or hear them, instead testing out both blades at once now on thin air. Throwing George a happy grin, flashing his teeth as he did so, wondering if it was giving him away at the same time so Jacob made an attempt to restrain himself. “I'm also sure he would be happy if you accepted my thanks in his name, if the situation were different, he would have come with us, but London needs its Ghost now more than ever.” She said it with a twinkle in her eye.

That night they celebrated, first with George and Jacob found himself wringing his hands, grabbing onto his bottle and the edge of his seat to quench their want to reach out and get all touchy with the other assassin. Jacob managed to do so rather poorly, although he had sparse recollections of it later when they broke into their father's alcohol cabinet on their own in that big empty house that had never made him feel like he belonged. And while they drank, sitting across from each other on her bed, slowly growing back into old what was once familiar and comfortably Jacob thought that maybe, just maybe, tonight the fire and smoke wouldn't get to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 will come to you on 09/09.
> 
> Preview: "“I'm going to do something incredibly stupid now.” Warning him was the only fair thing he could do."


	2. House Of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to finish up business in Crawley. Time for Jacob to live up to the tag about questionable life choices. Do not worry, he's in good company.
> 
> Jacob has nicknamed his sister VV, since Evie is already short as it is. He pronounces it somewhat close to viv/vuv, where he bridges the gap with an unclear sound and kinda just makes a noise that sounds like two vs. Evie just calls him Jay when she needs a nickname.

_Crawley, April 1868_

His dreams had been a blur or sweet nothingness and the stench of smoke filling up his nose and lungs making it near impossible to breathe. A mix of burnt textiles, wood and flesh, which formed a strange aftertaste in his mouth when he woke up. There was a pounding in his head and Jacob felt much more comfortable dozing off than staying awake, even though the flames returned as he closed his eyes. It was something he was gradually growing used to, despite how tiring it was.

Beside him, Evie mumbled a tired complaint, something about “a terrible idea” and “your fault.” Proceeding to complain about his weight when Jacob rolled onto his stomach, face-planting into her shoulder as he did so.

Muttering Jacob retorted with something along the lines of “your own fault.” And Evie made a half-hearted attempt to shove him back against the wall, but her actions weren't crowned with success.

On the train Evie had claimed the bed for herself, so Jacob had been left with the couch right across from the assassination wall Henry had set up for him. Sleeping in their separate beds had never been much of an issue to them, although it had taken a while to get used to after sharing a bed for some twelve odd years. Only enforcing the rule for themselves after a particularly bad fight, when they were in need of space. Apart from the fact that they did enjoy each other's company despite their behaviour it had become something of a habit somewhere along the lines, something they had inevitably become used to. So, of course, separate beds had been simply strange with too much room and missing warmth of the other body next to them.

They had never minded, however, having their own space that was, and had been given separate rooms from the day they had arrived at this house, but they had never actually thought of not sharing a bed until it had become a rule. A rule which neither of them had taken seriously, especially since half the reason they often slept in the same bed was having fallen asleep mid-sentence, mid-conversation, which just so had happened to take place on someone's bed because it had been the middle of the night.

“You reek like a brewery,” Evie muttered. Possibly attempting to turn her head, but when she bumped against his deciding to comfortably rest it there.

“Says the brewer master.” And for that, she kicked him and he laughed. Till it faded into a comfortable quiet and he said, “it's been long...” Long since they had shared a bed.

“Not that long...” Evie replied and Jacob made a low sound in his throat. She was right, he remembered. It had been the night after they had buried their father, he had thought she had exhausted herself crying at the funeral, but Evie had been unable to fall asleep. So she had crawled into his bed, for comfort and warmth and reassurance of not being alone, waking an almost forgotten memory. Maybe she had thought him asleep, and that was why she had allowed herself to cry into his shoulder, reminding him of when they had been three or maybe four and she had cried herself to sleep because she had wanted their father to come home and that wasn't going to happen (ever – Jacob had known, but Evie had already been inconsolable, blubbering.) And all he had been able to do was hold her, attempting to soothe her and running a hand over her back till she would fall asleep. Sometimes he wondered if she remembered these things or whether they were forgotten and pushed into the farthest corners of her mind. But Jacob had never mustered the strength to ask.

The process of waking up and getting out of bed was a slow one, but eventually, they had made it into the kitchen and procured some breakfast to soothe their hangover.

“Did you mean it?” Jacob asked, slowly chewing his food. Evie only raised a brow, humming quietly to indicate he should keep talking. The question had been prodding his mind, coming back every now and then but he had never had the guts to ask it. “When you said maybe father didn't know everything… about everything.” He said it in the same way she had done in the cave beneath the lake, a little uncertain about what it meant, but confident in her judgement. 

Silence settled between them for a long moment, where each of them studied the other. Jacob knew he was treading dangerous territory just by asking because usually, the sole mention of their father had them arguing within the same second.

“Yes.” Evie was more than aware of their predicament, and she seemed puzzled by the fact that it was him who had mentioned their father. Normally it was the other way around.

“Any… examples?” He asked. “Just curious.”

“Sometimes personal feelings _don't_ compromise the mission.” She was trying to hide the smile that appeared on her lips but did a rather awful job. It was too obvious that she had Henry in mind, and it was rather adorable Jacob had to admit.

He wanted to say something, but all that came to his mind was how funny it was because he felt the exact opposite about those words. It seemed like the one thing their father had been right about after all. Only that he couldn't say that because then Evie would ask questions and Jacob didn't know where to begin, or if he even knew the answers. Feeling a strange aftertaste in his mouth when that suddenly had him thinking of George, feeling dizzy from the queasy mix of emotions it brought that he knew were no use to poke around in. So he kept his mouth shut and ate and let Evie draw whatever conclusions she wanted from his behaviour because that was likely still better than the truth right now.

At night the fire came back to mind. It was almost a ritual when at the brink of sleep he would think of how the smoke had made breathing harder with each moment and how the heat had engulfed everything around him. In its own way, it had been their perfect ending.

Only that this time there was no Evie, no alcohol and too little on his mind to stop him from getting up and going out. His feet still knew the way. He had run here when they were kids, wanting to hide from their father's lectures and lessons one too many times to not have it memorised.

For its size, Crawley had a rather large number of empty factories and warehouses. Some of them had been used by the Assassins, among them their father when he had trained them in stealth and combat. It was how Jacob had found out about them, but that was long past now. The fading memory of a boisterous child, running around these empty halls. It was where he had learnt to fight, play cards, shoot and drink himself under the table among the worst who crawled about this small city. Maybe that was why he had taken a liking to Maxwell, Jacob thought, but knowing better.

To say that these places were empty wasn't quite right. They provided shelter, so especially in winter they were all but forsaken.

Walking on a rusted pipe Jacob halted to scout the familiar surroundings for other human beings. In the distance, possibly another building he could make out a fire and some men playing cards, most of the others he found were asleep. It had only been a few months, but ever since London, everything had changed and everything felt so far away. The moment he started moving again the blue blurred from his vision.

Jacob had no trouble finding a place to sleep a little offside where no one would bother him, none of them would go looking for him either. They wouldn't expect him to be back. And with that in mind, Jacob closed his eyes and went to sleep.

For about a whole second. Or so it felt, it had probably been longer, but time was hard to judge when you were under a roof and had no clear view of the night sky. Weary Jacob staggered towards the exit and made his way towards the roof. His throat had been parched. He swallowed instinctively at the memory, feeling something in his gut coil uncomfortably. Why the hell did it have to haunt him, there had been no other way. No matter his feelings. “Dammit.” Jacob slammed his hand into the wall without disrupting his climb. The roof had been slanted twice and Jacob decided to make himself comfortable in the connecting nook. Maybe the fresh air would help.

Jacob wasn't hopeful that it would go away, he knew for certain that he should do something about the fact that he had been having nightmares for several weeks now. Only that there was nobody to tell and no time in their schedule to squeeze out for dealing with the emotional disaster he had gotten himself into. There was always something to do, something to talk about or someone to talk to, plans to make and people to contact. Any other time he might have found an excuse to leave the bureaucracy to Evie, but he wanted this. He wanted London, and for Evie to go to India. No matter how awful the thought twisted in his mind. Besides it was still far away, Jacob always consoled himself with that, but at the same time knowing that a year or two could pass within the blink of an eye with all they would have to do once they got back to London.

That night, Jacob felt like he didn't sleep at all. Even though he knew of several instances where he must have fallen asleep, it never felt that way. So by the time morning came he found himself staggering back to their old home and tiredly collapsed into the nearest chair. Knowing full well that he wouldn't sleep, even if he collapsed into Evie's bed now. And sleeping next to each other was usually a surefire way to get either of them to fall asleep within the hour.

Tired as he was Jacob figured he would have to wait till they got back to London, for a proper night's rest. It was less than a week already and George and the council would keep them occupied for another few days, while they would sift through the house for anything they wanted to bring back with them to London. It wasn't long until he heard Evie's steps on the stairs. Most of that day went by in a blur for him with only Evie as a constant.

Jacob felt better thinking of someone tugging him along at invisible strings on the third night that he couldn't find sleep, deciding that it was high time to visit George and see if he could keep him company in one way or another. Most likely one way because what were the odds, even though his imagination liked to hope. His thoughts drifting off, hazy from the beer he'd had, suddenly regretting the drinks because this time Evie wasn't around to act as a buffer and keep him from doing something incredibly stupid. No amount of sensible reasoning was getting the thought of kissing George off his mind and he had tried hard, but his mind had already made plans for his mouth that were stupidly compelling. All the while knowing that it would remain just that, telling himself that all he sought was a place to sleep and no more. So it was just a thought that had made him stare at George's often twisted mouth a whole lot, dragging his thoughts away from conversations, away from reason into the hazy fog that existed between knowing what you wanted and the unspecified craving for touch, kisses, closeness. He wanted more than just that, but that wasn't going to happen Jacob told himself with all the remaining reason he had.

“What are you doing here?” George looked disgruntled, but only for a moment, then he seemed very, very tired. Accepting Jacob's presence without further question. “You're drunk,” he scrunched up his nose, but there was no accusation in his tone.

“Just a little tipsy,” Jacob replied smiling, thinking that it was the wrong question and he couldn't say what he wanted even though it was on the tip of his tongue and that George should stop saying these stupid things and finally kiss him. But instead, he wet his lips and made his way inside through the window he had knocked on. “Can't sleep,” Jacob announced and let himself fall onto the big armchair in the living room.

With a sigh George followed, seating himself right across from Jacob. There was a bottle in his hand that Jacob eyed curiously, watching as he drank from it. Not wanting the drink, but to trade places. Okay, maybe he wanted the bottle a little, wanted George even more, but settled for the bottle as he got up and took it from his hands a charming smile on his lips. That was the only thing he really knew how to do. Max had made everything so easy for him. Too easy. So now he found himself hovering over George just a little too long, trying to figure out how to get across what he wanted, disregarding the fact that it was a tremendously stupid idea as most of his recent thoughts were. But then he merely let himself sink on the armrest and drank his beer. Regretting how close that brought them.

Swiftly Jacob swiped the bottle away from George's thieving hands who had reached for it to recover the stolen item. “If you want it back you have to…” Jacob halted, “have to...” Kiss me, he wanted to say but only found himself considering the other's face in his thoughtfulness, couldn't help the stare. Unable to think up a more harmless demand.

“Go to sleep Jacob,” George sighed against expectations. “You're drunk and tired.”

“And so are you,” Jacob pointed out mimicking his disgruntled voice, which only seemed to further annoy George. He was just drunk enough to start losing his inhibitions. Just drunk enough to disregard the fact that his actions if not crowned with success were potentially devastating on more than one level of their relationship.

“Go sleep on the couch.” With no regard for his words, George had gotten up to grab him, placing a goofy smile on Jacob's face at the prospect of all else those hands could do, direct him towards and shove him down onto the couch with gentle force. Jacob couldn't bring himself to resist when that got him thinking. “What's bothering you, Jacob, don't think I didn't notice you spacing out since you two arrived.”

“You,” Jacob replied and somehow that was easier than admitting that it was their father too and that dreadful house. And Maxwell, always Maxwell these days. Heat was crawling up his cheeks when he realised the gravity of his statement, saw the confused stare George gave him, suddenly wishing he hadn't said anything. “Just forget about it, I just want a good night's sleep and I can't find it in that damned place...” It had been so stupid to think he would find it here. “I should go.” He made an attempt to get up, but only stumbled into George suddenly not knowing what he was looking for in him either. Lost Jacob stared at him, gaping like a fish in wonder before he forced his lips shut, pressed into a neat, firm line and focused his stare on the buckles and buttons of George's coat, then his boots and then back up again. He couldn't focus.

He could smell beer, smoke – since when did George smoke? – and the faint, odd non-distinctive smell of the flour which lingered on practically everything at the mill, including its owner. Like a lure it made him stick, shift his weight as he swayed in place, thinking how it brought back memories of the wrong time. “Just step aside,” he said, playing more drunk than he was hoping that George would do as told and let him wander off into the dead of the night. It wouldn't be the first time. And it wasn't like he cared.

“No, you're going to sleep.” Somehow George managed to sit him down this time and somehow Jacob managed not to kiss him as well. Instead, he found himself wondering what it would be like, not particularly in the mood to question where that thought came from and why all of a sudden George of all people was of interest to him. London had been full of other men, but the thought just made his head spin with more questions that made him look forlorn when he lifted his head to meet the confused glance of George. There was something else in his eyes that Jacob didn't know how to place, thinking that it might have been apprehension of what was to come.

“I'm going to do something incredibly stupid now.” Warning him was the only fair thing he could do.

“No, you're not,” he heard George sigh, feeling that sound strike a chord somewhere deep within in a way it definitely should not. “You are going to lie down and sleep now.”

It was almost cute how he thought himself safe from his stupid ideas in this very moment Jacob mused, thinking that this was definitely not how he should feel about the man who had been his father's best friend for many years. But there it was and it was driving him up the walls like everything else about him now. “Nope,” Jacob felt a shaky, queasy something take hold of him as he grabbed onto George's coat to steady himself as he stood up. Swaying for a moment but not because of the alcohol. “You can forget this ever happened tomorrow morning, I'll be honest I would prefer if you did, I don't think I can deal with this sober,” Jacob muttered, too fast to be certain of what he said or his hands were doing when he grabbed George's face and kissed him.

Some part of him knew then. Knew what he had been looking for and hoping to find, but it was too hard to admit to himself at that moment that it had been familiarity even if only in the barest sense that he sought. The stubble wasn't familiar, but close enough if he closed his eyes he could pretend just fine.

Any other time Jacob would have laughed about how he had managed to make a salt pillar out of George that easily, right now it only brought home how little he knew what to do with himself in a situation like this. Only his body seemed to be certain of what it wanted, and right now that was barely enough for Jacob.

He could feel the flush returning, sure that his cheeks were bright red by now, visible even in the pale light of the moon and what little the dying fire had to offer. “Stupid...” Jacob muttered to himself as if to reaffirm that his decision had been exactly that.

“What are… you doing Jacob…?” There was a quizzical look on George's face, surprise and anger mixed with confusion like the kiss had struck him dumb. Jacob couldn't help but giggle. “What's so funny?!” His tone was getting more irritated.

“You are, you have even less a clue what the hell to do than me, that's funny.”

“That's not funny.” It was all he said, deadpan like only George could, then no more when Jacob shut him up with a bird-chatter like nonsensical murmur. All the while he couldn't keep his hands out his short, greying hair. It wasn't as dark as Max's had been, that was all he could think about when he looked at him. How much nothing really reminded him of Max, but realising at the same time that now it was too late and now it didn't matter anymore and that there was nothing he could do about it. He would regret this either way, so why not make it worth it. “Is this going to make you shut up and sleep?” George questioned frowning with an obvious change in tone, sounding more concerned now. Concerned about what? Jacob could watch the gears in his head turning as if he seemed to consider their situation from that much more functional angle.

Swaying Jacob hummed to himself, drunk but not on alcohol. “I dunno,” he slurred. “I dunno anythin' righ' now.” Closing his eyes, he didn't stop himself from leaning his head against George's. “It's what I'm hoping for… the sleep anyway,” he then admitted, his voice barely audible. “I know one thing,” Jacob said after a long pause. “I wanna kiss you till I can't breathe and I dunno why.” When George opened his mouth, Jacob mimicked that for a moment then said, “don't”, ghosting over his lips. “Just don't.” Don't think. – Jacob couldn't say if it was a reminder to himself or advice for George. Not thinking would make what they would do much easier, he knew.

It warranted many questions why George didn't stop him when Jacob kissed him then, drinking in the intimacy of the moment as he sank against him. It warranted even more questions when he kissed him back, thinking maybe it was all there was too it, but Jacob grabbed him by the collar of his coat now to keep him close.

Nothing felt right. The touch of his calloused hands brought a queer mix of memories to mind. Times of his childhood when he had ruffled his hair or wiped a spot of dirt off his skin, helped him clean and dress the scraped limbs Jacob had come back with all the time, mixed with what he had been looking for, equally faint imagery of Maxwell lingering ghostly, raising the ugly taste of wrong to the back of his throat. Wanting to get rid of it Jacob only kissed harder, wanting to hold up the illusion that it weren't George's hands burning heated traces onto his skin as they dragged him along.

But when George eased the clasp of Jacob's hands on his coat he only managed for Jacob to push it off his shoulders and shove him into the armchair. Heat rising beneath his skin, pressing close and catching him in another kiss, groaning against his own expectations when he tasted blood. Not knowing whose it was. If tonight was George's way to haul him over the coals for anything and everything he had ever done, Jacob didn't mind. If anything he encouraged it, only guiding George's hands when the faltered in momentary uncertainty. Grinding into his touch, whispering sweet nothings about memories forgotten in the morning and pretences for the night, hand sliding down to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. Jacob had buried his face in the crook of his neck, feeling every shudder now with his hand on George's skin that his breath caused. Trying to keep quiet as they were far from lonely at the mill, but with little regret for the sounds, he released from George's throat with a hand around his cock. 

Thoughtless caressing a scar which wasn't there, when Jacob's hand brushed his cheek and he gripped him hard by the collar of his shirt. It was far too easy to pretend when he couldn't see him, only hear him panting, groaning, stuttering his name in a way that made Jacob's head spin, only feel his calloused touch of hands which weren't his but could have been all the same. Assassins, millers and gang leaders had all quite similar hands. Unaware of the name on the tip of his tongue, no more than a husky breath when it came out. “Max.”

Shuddering Jacob came, unaware of the name he has rasped into George's ear, glad when he came too and everything was over. Twisting his mouth Jacob pressed his face into the fabric of George's shirt, feeling more tired but even less willing to sleep than before. He almost jerked away when George's hand ran a soothing circle across his back. The last thing, Jacob knew as much, the last thing he deserved right now was comfort and despite that, his shoulders sank and he into the touch. Feeling like he could cry, but there wasn't a single tear only a howl sitting in his mouth that he didn't dare to voice.

Quietly George shushed him when Jacob opened his mouth to rasp out half a broken sound. Jacob only responded by clawing into fabric and skin, knocking his palm against George's shoulder in a weak attempt to express his anguish. Sinking against George's shoulder Jacob pressed his eyes shut, trying to will sleep upon himself.

Jacob woke up unexpectedly sore in a tangle of blankets that had been piled on him on the floor. Shambles of last night, he caught himself thinking, realising his clothes were still in disarray. Realising it was already mid-day. Realising Evie would be more than upset with him, but only being able to stare at the ceiling.

Outside he could hear George in conversation with two of his workers. Assassins. He could tell by the tone of his voice and the words he caught with the help of his eagle vision. Wondering what he should do when he faced him, wondering if he should just steal away, quietly as if nothing ever happened, like he had promised to. A bitter aftertaste lingered on his tongue, regret coiling queasy in his stomach when he managed to get up, cleaned and dressed, stepping outside to meet George only with a short glance that told too much. Feeling like he should say something, anything at all, Jacob stood in the doorway. 

He made a point not to visit George again during their stay, and George made no point in seeking him out for answers either, which made it easy to pretend, easy to forget, easy to act like nothing had happened at all.

They had contacted Ned to ensure all and any resources the council provided would make it safely back to London, as well as that his train would make relocating them to the individual boroughs much faster and easier. As for everything they salvaged from their father's study and library they intended to bring back themselves. Except for a single, rather large shipment of books which would leave Crawley in company with the assassins and supplies on Ned's train. It wasn't all the manpower they had asked for and required, but they had been reassured that within the following weeks – once they had returned to London – more assassins would follow from all over England.  
Their remaining days in Crawley were spent explaining their planning to the assassins present who would follow them to London, clear up any questions and assign them to the boroughs which needed them the most as of now. Even though Evie made it clear that this might change in the future since there were more assassins on their way.

It was a lot more work than expected, and more work than Jacob cared for to handle. Even though it kept his mind occupied, away from George, away from Max, and made their trip to Crawley more than a success.

 

_London, April 1868_

When they arrived at Whitechapel it was already late evening. They had taken the last train, but even at this time of the night, London looked more lively than Crawley to Jacob. Or rather London at night was like a really busy Crawley during the day. “You know, I've missed this”, he said, grinning at his sister who smirked in return. Knowing that their one-horse town could have never been enough for him. He gathered his cards and pocketed them, while Evie slipped her book beneath her coat and they picked up their bags to meet Henry on the train across the station. Usually their train never halted, chugging along at its own slow and steady pace round and round London, but of course Agnes had halted it for an unscheduled stop when the twins had requested it upon their return.

“You sure brought a lot of souvenirs from Crawley, are you sure we are going to need them all?” Jacob could hear the smile in Henry's voice, who had approached them unseen as they had made their way onto the train and signalled the conductor to fire up the engine.

Both of them stopped unpacking the books and documents they had carried with them. “You should see the chests she made Ned bring on his train,” Jacob half-joked. Since Evie had, in fact, an extra shipment of books on the way and it would be more than they could store on the train from the looks of it.

“One day you will be thankful for my thoroughness, dear brother.” Evie merely replied with familiar diligence.

“Fortunately you will be in India when that time comes, so I won't have to see you gloating, sweet sister.”

Henry smiled. “Your bickering tells me everything went well?” He asked.

“More than well,” they said in unison. Jacob grinned to himself, shoving unwanted memories back down into the abyss as they came up, as they recapped the events in Crawley. Henry in return told them how London had been fairing in their absence. The city hadn't fallen (obviously, despite Evie's and everyone else's worry), so that was a plus, but the Templars had made already made attempts to regroup. Also, the Queen had sent them a letter, but since she hadn't addressed it at anyone specifically just her trusted Knights and Lady of the Royal Garter he had opened it. She was asking to meet them, in fact, they had arrived just in time for the specified time and date which happened to be tomorrow. Which served just as further proof for their impeccable timing, as Henry jokingly remarked.

Henry had also mentioned that there was a package waiting for Jacob on his couch, and maybe he actually wanted to grant them that moment to themselves or it was that strange feeling in his gut that he was forgetting something, but Jacob left the two of them to themselves and went to investigate whatever the hell had arrived in their absence. Which meant Evie would present Henry his second hidden blade all by herself, but all in all that was probably a good thing Jacob thought as he walked up the wagons of the train to the couch he'd spent most of the last months on.

And right there, in the middle of the train for anyone to see leaned a box against the back of the couch with a quite familiar emblem. It was a tailor's trademark, one that he was uncomfortably familiar with; it was the same man who had made The Suit, but this one… admittedly Jacob had forgotten about it. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to think about it in the first place.

Its mere sight made his stomach drop, no matter how much Jacob tried to fight it. He knew circumstances would expect him to open it sooner than later, but Evie was in the other wagon and so was Henry and Jacob knew full well that he wouldn't be able to explain himself. He couldn't explain what it was already doing to him, and the way his knees wanted to give out but didn't.

It shouldn't be here. It should have burnt with the Alhambra and Maxwell. He didn't need any reminders of his own stupidity. Or all these feelings he didn't know what to do with now.

Jacob barely noticed how hard he pressed his lips together when he took the package and shoved it without thinking under the couch, tossing a few more items after it in a meagre attempt to hide it. He knew Evie would ask about it, but he didn't know what to reply just yet, and probably wouldn't either by the time the question turned up. However, that was a problem to deal with later. There was a ringing in his ears that made it hard to concentrate and the taste of smoke lingered on his tongue. The smell of burnt flesh… it was hard to stop his thoughts, once they started down that trail they easily derailed.

There was a high probability for Evie to become upset if he burrowed himself into a pile of pillows and blankets now. Leaving all the work to her was what she expected him to do, after all, Jacob was pretty sure of it. He might have busied himself with sorting her books into their library, only that he would have to go back to her and Henry to retrieve them and that was the opposite of what he felt like doing now. So Jacob let himself fall down onto his couch, facing his back towards the train and buried himself beneath his blanket.

For however short, but he must have fallen into a doze because he could hear them talking close by in hushed voices.

“Don't wake him, he barely slept while we stayed in Crawley...” That was Evie's voice, Jacob realised. His thinking dulled by the heaviness of sleep weighing on his mind. So she had noticed after all… or maybe it hadn't been too hard. “I think father's been on his mind a little too much...” Her voice sounded softer now and Jacob wanted to roll over and say something, but he didn't dare to. After all, maybe he was still dreaming. It all sounded a little too much like what he wanted to hear. Besides, he couldn't exactly make out what Henry was saying, so this couldn't be real. Or maybe it was, but he was too tired to figure it out properly. Jacob fell back asleep.

Their business with the Queen was a brief one. Four relatively short missions which cost them about three days in total, but spanned across two weeks as a whole because the captured templar did spend several days imprisoned by the Queen before his escape and afterwards. Each time something had occurred a new letter had reached Henry's shop and Jacob and Evie had made their way to Buckingham Palace. So far their relationship was proving to be more than useful since not only Henry but Queen Victoria as well had kept a close eye on the Templars. Which allowed them to easily suppress their means to name a new Grand Master – for now. Only for the angered templars to make an attempt to blow up the parliament.

Evie hadn't mentioned anything beforehand, but there had never been any need to. Jacob knew just as well as her how helping the Crown was an unsustainable work field for them. It was however rather fortunate for the Queen to be so understanding of their ways, also that they weren't stripped of their titles as members of the Order of the Sacred Garter. Unfortunately, that meant no more cake and Jacob had really liked the cake, so of course his sister deserved a verbal jab for that. Only that he would be wrong because the Queen had not only awarded them medals but several boxes of cake which would be delivered to Henry's shop as he would soon find out.

 

_London, June 1868_

He wasn't sure why it surprised him, maybe simply because it seemed like something his sister would find important, but apparently, she had been completely unaware of the fire at the Alhambra and Jacob only found out because they crossed the Strand on their way back to the train hideout one day.

Then again he couldn't blame her, ever since Starrick's death everything had been hectic, even when they had travelled to Crawley and even now, afterwards, they were kept busy in their attempts to secure the city, running here and there, near headless with everything they had to keep in mind. While dealing with the Queen they had also been busy with the assassins who had come with them from Crawley and making sure all their shipments went to their assigned boroughs. A hassle, really, but necessary, Jacob understood all that perfectly well.

“Damn, that looks awful...” Evie sighed.

“Maybe we should invest in it and help the repairs,” Jacob joked half-heartedly while the voice in his head mocked him.

“Jacob Frye, you know that's not a bad idea.” Evie smiled, giving him a friendly jab with her elbow.

“Well, I kinda do feel responsible...” The words were out before he could stop them. Jacob swallowed, hard. His throat felt terribly dry all of a sudden and there was this stench again, while his eyes fixed on the burnt theatre.

It wasn't all that bad on the outside, Jacob knew it looked much worse inside and it was half a miracle the whole building hadn't burnt down. Even now he could still vividly remember the flames licking away at the windows and surrounding stone. Where the fire had gotten the better of the Alhambra the stones were black and charred anyway. From somewhere Evie's voice said he wasn't responsible, and Jacob wanted to shake his head, but his body was frozen. That night, that play, that fire. It all had been for him. His gaze was losing focus too, but only for a moment and when he could see clearly again there was only the burnt husk of the once outstanding Alhambra. The captain had gone down with his ship, Jacob figured that was more than accurate for Maxwell. To return the Alhambra to the state he had found it in with his death, to extinguish his own flame in a spectacle. Yes, that was very much like him, Jacob thought to himself.

“Jacob?” Absorbed in the picture in front of him, he hadn't paid her any mind, but he could make out distinct concern in the shape of her mouth, even though his name had been no more than a blur of sounds to him.

Jacob opened his own mouth, attempting to form words. Staying here would be bad. Staying here would make him say more stupid things. “I'm sorry I was late...” The words were out before he managed to turn on his heel and resume his way to the train hideout. He wasn't actively trying to get rid of Evie, but saying he wasn't avoiding her for the moment was a lie as well.

It was a problem. To explain himself and what had happened. Jacob hadn't thought about talking to her at all, it wasn't an option, that much he already knew, even if they rekindled their relationship there was no way he could tell her the truth when he didn't even know how to admit it to himself. Why he had bothered to say anything at all he wasn't sure. His brain hadn't been working right at the sight of the Alhambra. Despite it all, there was still this overwhelming urge to share the news with his sister that he had to shove away. There was hardly anything they didn't know about each other. No that wasn't quite right, there was plenty they didn't know and this wasn't why it bothered him. Not being able to talk to Evie felt wrong in every bone of his body, after all, she had been his best friend ever since he could remember. The one constant in his life to never vanish. It was a matter of option. They had lost the option to talk freely to each other and to Jacob that was among the most agonising things he could imagine.

She found him, crouching in front of the bookshelf, next to one of the chests Ned had delivered, examining one of the books to figure out where it belonged. Evie had her very own sorting system, but figuring it out had been easy, so Jacob wasn't bothered by it. He just kept sorting through the books; eventually he would reach the bottom of the chest, eventually it would be empty. Outside it was dark and even the train had grown still except for the ongoing rattling of its wheels.

“The last time you were late… I had located the Piece of Eden and we meant to go after Starrick,” she said, gently taking the book from his hands and placing it among the others with only a short glance at it. “It's nice to hear you apologise for once...” she added, taking another book from his hands.

Jacob huffed quietly. “You didn't let me get out a word.”

“I suppose so...” Evie replied quietly. There was no outright denial in her voice. “Not that that ever stopped you, dear brother,” she smirked, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Jacob managed to return it just barely. There was a long pause between them where only the occasional book was passed along before she asked, “are you going to tell me what happened?” It was tentative, almost careful the way she placed her words.

No. Jacob had given it as much thought as it had been possible for him, there was no way he could tell her the whole truth, but when he lifted his gaze off the book in his hands towards her where she was standing, he said, “I guess there's no helping it now.” With a sigh Jacob stood, feeling a little more confident now that he wasn't curled up into a ball, sitting on the floor.

“You really pissed me off, you know,” Jacob wandered off into the wagon and slumped onto his couch. “I didn't think I would make it out alive, and the first thing I hear is you complaining about me being late, made me wish I'd rather stayed in that burning hell-hole,” he couldn't help the bitter tone in his voice. He'd been oddly glad to see her, despite all the fights, despite knowing he couldn't tell her, just knowing that she had been waiting for him had been comforting in its own right. Knowing that a little piece of reality had remained just the way it was supposed to be had been enough to pull through.

Evie furrowed her brows. “I'm sorry for what happened, but don't blame me for what I couldn't have known.” Her voice wasn't as sharp as it had been that night, and there was no comfort in her words either. 

“I just wanted to hit you where it hurt,” he muttered, arms resting on his legs with the hands folded in mid-air and eyes focused on his boots. “That's why I said Starrick could have the Shroud.” It was as honest as he would get about that part.

There had been a time where it hadn't made him feel so vulnerable being honest with her, where he had been sure he could have told her everything, but Jacob didn't know when that moment had passed them by. Right now it seemed like forever ago, but then again so seemed almost everything which had happened before they had gone to London.

“You were in there, weren't you?” It wasn't a question born out of doubt, but one that needed reassurance. Evie had crouched down to meet him on eye-level, her palms displayed in an invitation to take her hands. And for the barest moment, they were just kids again, sitting in the garden outside their grandmother's house. Evie had always held out both hands for him, never just one, always offering her all and way too often they had tumbled into each other, into hugs and laughs and fights, another game to play before they would be called inside, but never alone.

A nod. “Everything was on fire...” His throat felt uncomfortably dry and his own words suddenly felt silly, of course, everything had been on fire. “I've never seen so much fire before, I didn't know where I could climb and whether or not it would still be able to carry my weight...”

Maybe that was why everything felt so hard because he wasn't used to being entirely on his own. Because she had always been there. Because he hadn't thought she would ever leave. Had never truly meant it anyway when he chased her away.

“Why were you in there in the first place?” She wasn't mad, not this time, he could tell by the tone in her voice as the question escaped her lips. It was only concern. There was that little frown knitted together in the middle of her forehead and her eyes, all bright and blue and searching, were so worried. He knew that expression well enough to know it even without seeing it.

A bitter smile crept up the corners of his mouth and Jacob sunk his head as he took her hands into his. His thumbs moved across her palms, Evie's hands had been smaller than his for the longest time now and they were probably the most familiar hands in his life. Except for hers he had seldom bothered to remember someone's hands so well. Their warmth and familiarity stirred a little piece of comfort in his chest. “I killed… my target, that's all… that matters… doesn't it?” All that ever mattered. Calling Maxwell his target felt odd and wrong even though it couldn't be closer to the truth all the same. He had simply allowed himself to forget. But at the same time he had never been a target – not once – but something different, something more (important), something Jacob was scared to name after killing him. “I really thought I would die, VV...” The words came out with the stunted calm of numb realisation. And maybe a part of him had died after all, but that was another story that he wouldn't ever tell her. Not now anyway. “Sorry I was late.”

She would frown with concern now, and maybe be a little upset too, he thought to himself without looking up.

There was probably no way to answer this, and to be quite honest Jacob wasn't expecting one either. But he allowed Evie to slip her hand out of his grip to cup the side of his face, which had suddenly grown heavy so he leaned against it. While he could hear her say from what seemed quite far away, “you always have to get yourself into trouble, don't you?”, with that little sigh of hers that made her sound so worried. “Don't you know I don't like it,” she said so quietly it was almost inaudible.

And there was no answer to that either, but when Evie sat down next to him Jacob folded in on her shoulder, taking in her familiar warmth and shape and scent. There was a familiarity in just being near each other that always calmed him down. Jacob closed his eyes and just this once there was no fire, there was only Evie and he was glad for it.

 

_London, August 1868_

Her plans to go to India were set in stone. Jacob knew as much, but hearing her practice Indian with Henry made the whole thing an awful lot more real. Watching her practice reminded him of their time back home, when she had been the ever diligent, dutiful student. She was still the same now.

Most of her lessons she spent with Henry (obviously), but ever since they had won the maharajahs favour and offered their help in his endeavour to return his homeland to its people, sometimes she spent her lessons at his mansion. Together with Henry of course, and it wasn't like they invited him, but they also hadn't un-invited him so Jacob tagged along as he pleased. Tuning their chatter out to a faint background noise while he worked just as diligently. He had made a habit out of working in Evie's close vicinity, not exactly because he needed her company, but because he knew she needed to see it. See him try and despair and pull through it anyway.

It was also Duleep Singh who was responsible for his current predicament. A terribly stupid one on top of everything.

Jacob had pushed a finger through the tear on the sleeve of his Suit and wiggled it around. For some reason, he couldn't quite follow why he had actually been looking forward to wearing this thing again. The Suit. The stupid Suit. That gift he couldn't get rid off. Jacob sighed and grimaced at the tear. It was terrible, really, somewhere along the lines he had gotten attached to this damned thing and he had only worn it twice altogether now.

“Stop doing that, you're only going to make it worse,” Evie sighed, swatting at his hand. But all that did was stop him from moving it. “Come on take your jacket off, I'll fix it for you,” she offered, smiling, trying extra hard to soothe the pout from his lips. And he knew, but all Jacob wanted was to glare when he moved his arm towards his chest for protection. “Don't be like that, I'll stitch your shirt as well.”

Again, Jacob pulled a face. “You're no seamstress, you're only going to ruin it, this bloody thing was expensive.” He could basically hear her rolling her eyes at that.

Even though he hadn't paid for it out of his pocket, he knew. It was part of why the whole visit had been so awkward for him, but Maxwell had insisted that he needed a proper suit. (For a Good Reason, but that hadn't made it any less awkward.) And that other outfit… Jacob could only guess why it had been gifted to him. (It was where he had left it, stored under his couch, hidden behind a myriad of things he kept tossing under there to keep Evie from finding it.)

Unwanted a smile crept up his lips at that thought, and no matter what Jacob couldn't will it away.

What possibly would Evie make of this, he couldn't tell. “I'm not doing anything until this gets fixed, and I want it to be done right,” he decided.

She was irritated, he could tell. She didn't understand, and she wouldn't for a very long time, he knew that as well, but when he looked at her all Evie seemed to be capable of was sighing.

“All right,” she said. “There's a tailor… I let him fix my cape, you know the white, silky one that's soft and pretty and has a hem of lace, you can't even tell anymore I tore it...”

It was her offering of peace and so Jacob accepted. She had him strip out off jacket and shirt and change into something more comfortable while she folded both and put them neatly onto a nearby drawer. There was no need to tell him that it was too late at night for any kind of shopping now. So Jacob laid the day to rest, unable not to dream of smoke and fire.

Evie had kept her word, and so Jacob tagged along, feeling awkwardly protective of the clothing hidden beneath his coat. Whether or not he would trust the tailor he wasn't so sure, but he trusted Evie's judgement and for now, that was enough.

She had been quiet, except for the occasional answer Jacob had willed from her because unlike her he would always find something to talk about. It was only when they stepped outside the shop again that she spoke on her own account. “I can't believe you actually bought a suit to attend the Queen's ball,” Evie seemed as surprised as she was amused. “I thought you had borrowed or worse stolen it.”

Mock-offence was written all over his face. “Evie!” Jacob huffed. “How can I _not_ buy a suit for the Queen's ball?” He'd been quite excited about the prospect, almost disappointed that they had been there on official Assassin business, but with Starrick in mind, it hadn't been hard to focus on the task at hand. And of course he hadn't bought The Suit for the Queen's ball, it had merely arrived just in time for it. His first instinct had been to burn it, throw it out and tear it to shreds but when he had unpacked it he had found himself unable to do so.

“I had to borrow a dress and Mrs Disraeli insisted on helping me pick one out!” Evie responded in exasperation.

“That's hardly my fault, is it?”

“I don't believe you actually bought the suit,” Evie declared, just to tease him. “No way, you would spend so much money on a piece of fabric that doesn't allow you to carry weapons, who where you trying to impress – was it Starrick? Maybe you should have danced with him, not me.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, albeit uncertain what to feel at the prospect of dancing with Starrick in front of London's nobles other than all kinds of awkward. Knowing he would have done it just for the shock on everyone's face anyway. “I know it's a hard concept for you sweet sister, but I like to own nice and fancy things, sometimes.” And so they kept arguing, and Jacob kept the truth to himself. That he hadn't bought it, that it had been gifted to him and that the man who had done so was the reason why he felt so attached to it.

Recently, Jacob found, there was an awful lot of things he couldn't tell his sister. It was a reoccurring thought, one that he couldn't do anything about, that he would have to live with until things slowed down. Till the Templars wouldn't try to take their city back every other week. Till he wouldn't have to spend so much time with their recruits. Till there was time for him to breathe.

“You know, if you keep this up, I think you might just be able to be entrusted with the fate of this city...” Evie smiled. “Just maybe, I'm still considering.”

Jacob snorted, muttering something under his breath about how she was being stupid.

Till he didn't feel like he had to drown himself in work anymore. It was true that he wanted to show Evie that he could do much better than what had happened the previous months, but his reality was still that it kept him distracted from the turmoil beneath. That it made shoving down every ounce of emotion that occasionally surfaced so much easier, even though it always left him with an ugly aftertaste.

“Can't wait for the day you actually do leave the city to me,” he joked. Though it was half a lie, furthermore one that she seemed to read with ease. Or maybe it was just a coincidence that her expression softened when she saw the look on his face, he couldn't tell.

“You know it's not like with father, do you? I'm not leaving you behind, I'm just leaving...” A sudden laugh erupted from her throat. “You'll have to write me letters!”

“Forget it!”

“Yes, you do!” She insisted, smiling, giving him a friendly punch. “I insist, I will write you too.” Both of their grins dissolved into quiet laughter.

And for just this very brief moment it all seemed all right. Like everything had gone back to normal. And yet Jacob knew, knew they would never go back to how it had been before. Not with Evie leaving him behind for good. There was no way around it that that was what it felt like, and it clicked with an old long forgotten feeling from when he had been small and unable to fight what had happened. Only that he was grown up now and still not able to fight the situation.

But there was no way to tell her. So she would leave, and maybe that was for the better after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter will be there on 23/09. Did you guess what Jacob's hiding underneath his couch?
> 
> Preview:
> 
> "Henry's old clothes were too big for him and the sleeves and trouser legs had to be rolled up too many times to make him fit into them, and there was no denying that Jack hated it but he kept his mouth pressed into a firm white line and only scowled at all three of them to make his displeasure known."


	3. Jack The Lad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things have to happen the way they do because it's Jacob and no other reason and there is no way to fix the situation because it's Jacob.  
> Get ready for Jacob trying to parent his first kid. Get ready for Jack. And... George.
> 
> And a big thanks to Charo cause she lets me run all my Jack scenes by her and makes sure I get him right <3

_London, November 1868_

Evie had spent the day curled up in bed cursing human biology in the most creative ways till she had finally fallen asleep and Jacob couldn't help but feel with her. Henry had kept her company till he had relieved him and made himself comfortable with some of the books she had brought back from Crawley. Not out of personal interest in them, but he wouldn't tell her that because the plan he had was only starting to form. And he couldn't ask Clara right away anyway. So studying had to be done.

It had grown dark outside by the time Evie noticed it was him and not Henry by her side anymore. Looking quite disgruntled by the revelation.

“How do you feel?” Jacob dared to rest his hand on her shoulder, while Evie made no effort to sit up. Instead, she rolled over and curled up resting against his side.

“Like I've swallowed a piranha and it's eating my insides...” She muttered and sighed frustrated when she had to accept his help to tug the blanket over her shoulders once more.

Sympathetically Jacob rubbed her back, pushing a few dark strands from her face which had come loose over time. “Don't worry, I'll keep London intact till you're in fine fettle again.” But Evie only sighed and made herself more comfortable. “Actually… I have something for you,” Jacob smiled and reach out to procure a box of chocolates.

Only now Evie heaved herself up into a slightly more upright position that would make eating a lot more comfortable than just lying down. But she still leaned against him so Jacob kept an arm slung around her shoulder.

Instead of displaying her usual care Evie now ripped the box open and grabbed a handful of chocolate to be devoured immediately.

“I was gonna suggest you say thank you or I don't know to give me a little kiss, but that might just be the most heart-warming reply you've ever given me,” Jacob smirked as he watched her. He paused for a beat or two, then added. “I also wanted to apologise.”

This time Evie wasn't grabbing the chocolates by the handful anymore, but she still made no effort of eating like it would have been expected the elegant Victorian dame she was supposed to act like. Not that that had ever stopped Evie from stuffing her face the moment she was left unattended.

“I went too far,” Jacob smoothed the fabric of the shirt on her shoulder. “I know the contents of Lucy's chest were important to you and I know you want nothing more than to be a famed assassin, and though I'm your brother and through that liable to make sure the fame won't go to your head by being a relentless nuisance, I… I didn't mean to disappoint you in the way I did… I should have realised how you felt, but I didn't and I was an awful brother and I'm sorry about that…. I also shouldn't have killed Twopenny, but let's tackle this one situation at a time.”

Instead of replying Evie had slowed down her chewing, knitting her brows together in a deep frown that wouldn't budge. “Are you doing this because it's our birthday in like an hour or are you seriously sorry?”

Jacob would have folded his arms but that would have meant letting go of her so he settled for a quiet huff instead. But that was apparently all that Evie required because her features softened and she smiled for a moment. “Both actually…” Jacob muttered under his breath, but Evie heard him anyway and perhaps if it hadn't meant to stop eating the chocolate she would have done anything more than just glare with all the world's disappointment at him. Jacob merely continued to rub her shoulder. "I was an insensitive prick when I was only trying to needle you... that was unfair, and despite appearances, it wasn't my intention."

Evie paused to think about that for a moment. “Thank you… and if you behave well, in time I might even forgive you.” She nudged him in the side with her elbow, before curling up into a ball again at another wave of cramps. “You don't have any more chocolates, do you…?” Evie asked while emptying the box. There was a look of disappointment about the diminishing chocolates on her face.

“This includes what I said on the night of the ball.”

“Fantastic, Jacob! Chocolate!”

Jacob stifled a small laugh and hugged her close, motioning her to wait a moment before he got up and left the wagon compartment. When he returned it was with two boxes and two plates, which he sat on the desk chair that he had pulled up next to the bed. “That was supposed to be our birthday pie, but...” Jacob shrugged, a little smile on his lips when Evie asked what was in the boxes and then which pie. Her favourite of course, of which he served her graciously only to receive a stunned look. “Anything for you,” Jacob smiled and kissed her temple, while he handed her the plate. Clearly enjoying Evie's amazement that was overpowering anything else at this given moment. Grinning when she picked up the pie and took a large bite out of it as he sat down at her side again.

By the time the clock struck midnight in the distance, Evie was sated and asleep again, while Jacob had picked up his book once more. They wouldn't get over it in the blink of an eye, but they wouldn't ever get over it by waiting it out either. It had been Henry who had opened his eyes to that and maybe Evie had realised that despite not acknowledging it, however, Jacob had never meant to make her feel the same way. Not truly. Despite all their arguments in their first months in London.

He had given her a taste of her own medicine without realising it, although a little part of him thought it justified by all means considering all the hurt she and their father had caused him. With the only fault in that logic being that he couldn’t hate her just the same. That he wanted her on his side instead of against him, but that Evie seemed to be completely and utterly blind to that.

“Happy birthday to us...” Jacob whispered into the dark and closed his eyes, trying to find sleep and peace in the flames that soared inside his mind.

 

_London, January 1869_

The child weighed heavy on his arms now after holding him all the way from Lambeth to Whitechapel. Jacob adjusted his weight in his arms, feeling the small body shift under the heavy leather of his coat. It wasn't raining, although it would be most befitting for his situation and kind of laughable, really, when it was almost always raining all year around no matter the occasion. By now the wind had started to take its toll on Jacob, he was cold and his fingers stiff, but he hardly felt it.

It wasn't his fault, Jacob could reason the situation through clearly in his mind, but he couldn't shake off the guilt that coiled like a snake in his stomach when he looked at him. Jack, they called him. Jack the Lad. Starrick's men had killed his mother. The hospital staff had been compliable after some persuasion to tell him at least that. The nurse who had cared for him had told him much more of this unruly child who wouldn't let anyone handle him, but something about the way she spoke about Jack had made him taste bile. If it hadn't been for nurse Nightingale he would have forgotten himself. It was written all over her, in the folds and creases of her working clothes, in the curls of her hair and the wrinkles on her skin. It was like a stench coming off of her that he couldn't shake off, and for the fact that it had conjured up Maxwell's taunt he had hated her even more.

_Creed, forgotten. Prey, visualised. Mouth, watering._

But there had been nothing he could have done. Nothing for him to proof with Jack not talking only screaming, biting, pushing away any helping hand. Proof enough for Jacob, but not enough for the hospital, with the record Jack presented. It was nothing out of the ordinary, he should better get used to it, Jack's nurse had assured him in an ugly, well-meaning tone as Jacob had held on to a squirming Jack. 

Jack had fallen asleep by the time Jacob reached Henry's shop, but even if it hadn't been their agreed upon meeting place it would have been the only place he could have thought of bringing him. The train wasn't a home as much as a hideout, no matter how much they tried and certainly not for a small child. The Alhambra still had months to go before it would be back to its old glory and he couldn't bring him to the Flat. He couldn't even bring himself to go there, besides he wasn't trying to hide.

With a sigh Jacob trudged through the empty hallway, right next to the shop, they were upstairs, he could hear them. His vision blinked out of the blue surrounding him with ease. The cold was starting to sink in and Jacob couldn't think of much more than a warm fire and a warm drink. A comfortable blanket for Jack, he would make do with his coat. It was fine, heavy leather that would keep him warm once it was warm itself again.

She didn't say it, but the way her boots stomped on the stairwell and her face was all hard edges and furrowed brows she might have as well pointed out how very late he was. “You knew this was time sensitive, Ja-” Evie stopped, her mouth now pressed into a firm white line as she stared at him, scrutinising his appearance. “Bloody hell, you're freezing what happened!” It sounded more accusing than worried but Jacob had long since decided he would take whatever Evie had to offer in that aspect. It wasn't even a question, she had almost barked an order.

“Let Henry fetch a blanket,” Jacob replied, instead of answering her words. Tired he dragged himself and Jack up the stairs and onto the couch. The house above the shop was surprisingly spacious, providing ample room for three adults and a child. Closing his eyes Jacob leaned into momentary comfort till Henry came and helped him uncoil Jack from his coat and into the woollen blanket. Thankfully the boy stayed fast asleep, for Jacob was sure he would have lashed out again. 

There was no need for Jack's clothes to slip to uncover a bruise or the fact that he was gaunt for his age – Jacob guessed it to be around seven or eight, but it was a little hard to tell.

“Charles Attaway,” Jacob breathed once Jack was comfortably settled in his arms again. Even though it were only his sister and her fiancé he felt oddly protective of the little boy. Holding him made him feel better, if only marginally, about the situation he had gotten himself into. At least this way he was certain of Jack's own safety, even if he had no means to convince the boy of it.

To find out that one of Pearl's relatives had been involved came of little surprise to anyone. She had been affiliated with Starrick after all, more so she had been his cousin and if there was one thing they knew then that Templar's valued their bloodlines above most others. “He's been organising their little ceremony, apparently he inherited some of Pearl's fortune through dubious means, apparently they've also been looking to bribe Lambeth Asylum to neglect a number of certain patients so they can be… silenced without anyone noticing, I figured I'd go and see what that's all about and it looks like someone is actually taking their bribes, and we should question whether or not these patients are actually sick, but I couldn't figure out who…”

Halfway through talking Jacob had realised that all eyes weren't on him but the bundle in his arms. “I went to find Miss Nightingale to help us find the bribee...” His voice dropped along with his shoulders when he met their eyes and he didn't know where to begin anymore. Wordless Jacob looked at Jack, uncertain what to say at all. The conviction in his own voice seemed alien to him when he spoke. “We need hot water and some bandages, he also needs something to eat, but better see to it that his wounds are cared for while he's still asleep, some clean clothes wouldn't hurt as well.” There was no shadow of a doubt that Jack would start shoving, punching and biting any arm and hand that came for him once he woke up. “I guess a bath would be good too…” Jacob muttered mostly to himself, while they kept staring at him.

It took a while for everything to be set in motion and Jacob saw that he helped where he could and Jack stayed asleep, cooing a simple nursery rhyme – the only that he could think off with Maxwell lurking in the back of his mind. 

_One crow's sorrow,_  
_Two for mirth,_  
_Three crow's a funeral,_  
_Four for a birth,_  
_Five for sickness_  
_Six for gold,_  
_Seven for a secret,_  
_Never to be told_  
_Eight crow's a death,_  
_Nine for hell,_  
_Ten for a kiss,_  
_Eleven for the devil, his own sel'_

It wasn't much of a lullaby, but its sing-song melody seemed to work just fine to keep Jack asleep whenever he stirred and his eyes blinked for a moment. Evie had joined in, her bright voice lifting some of the grim darkness off the words.

Their eyes wanted him to talk and Jacob's legs wanted him to get up and continue their mission, but none of that happened that day. Henry had kindly allowed them to stay the night as Jacob had been unwilling to part from Jack. At least his body didn't feel cold anymore, Jacob thought to himself as he was drifting off to sleep, missing the glint of Maxwell's mask and counting the bumps of Jack's spine like sheep to fall asleep. He dreamt of fiery crows and ashes that night.

A small bony hand slammed against his chest, with all the fierceness an eight-year-old could muster. Then a kick and Jack started squirming. This time he got away. Jack's scream was not of fear, but of anger and it pierced through the remnants of Jacob's tired mind, jolting him awake. He saw Jack standing a few steps away, a used surgical knife in hand. He must have stolen it from somewhere in the asylum. Someone must have thrown it out and Jack had searched a trash bin when nobody had looked. 

His chest hurt where Jack had hit him, but Jacob was trying to focus on Jack, not on the pain and weariness he felt. Confused he'd sat up, watching Jack step backwards as he did so. Intending to relieve the pain Jacob rubbed his chest as if trying to get rid of a sore spot only to find his hand covered in blood. It was only now that the pain made sense and he couldn't help the sigh as he pressed his hand back onto the wound for a while. It hurt, but it was mostly superficial. Jack had barely managed to nick his muscle underneath. All it did was bleed like hell.

He could see what he thought was fear in Jack's eyes, fear that would drive him to do anything if it kept him alive Jacob realised. With a shake of his head, he tried shaking off the words the nurse had told him. Jacob had long since decided he wouldn't heed them anyway. When he looked again, the fear was gone and only grim determination remained. Nothing would get too close, Jacob knew that, somehow… It was a look a child shouldn't carry, he was sure of that much.

“It's all right,” Jacob tried for a quiet, soothing voice but it sounded as raspy and tired as anyone's who had just been woken from their sleep. “It's all right,” he repeated, trying again for the voice he wanted Jack to hear. To assure him of his safety. “I won't harm you.” This time he raised his hands for Jack to see as he spoke.

He was holding it clenched in his fist, with the blade pointing away from his body, as Jacob regarded him in silence. It would do more harm than good to take the knife from him Jacob understood as much although he wished for things to be different for Jack. No child should feel the need to defend themselves so recklessly. Evie would later tell him his heedless behaviour had reminded her of him, and she wasn't so wrong, because at first, it was exactly what Jacob had seen. Like now Jack's defiance resembled a much younger version of himself.

It was only a momentary overlay, the brief flicker of a picture long forgotten, then he saw him clearly again. The shadow of the boy screaming his lungs out at his father being just that, a shadow. This was a different child, Jacob reminded himself.

Put the knife down. The words were forming on his tongue but something held them back, instead, Jacob rubbed his tired eyes. When he looked around he saw Henry standing in the doorway. His eyes fell back on Jack, then noticed Evie who was noticeably more alert. She would have made her move already if she were a little more like him, but before either of them could react Jack had turned on his heels and ran. Which prompted Jacob to scamper after him the moment he had processed the situation, but Jack was quicker despite his condition. Years at Lambeth had made him good at hiding and Jacob soon lost sight of him.

More frustrated than tired, the unexpected morning run had taken care of it, Jacob returned to his sister and Henry. There was nothing he could do about it, but Evie's suggestion to check in with Clara later that day eased some of his worries. Clara had a way of sniffing out London's orphans, so there was a good chance she or one of hers had already picked up Jack by the time they would come around to ask.

Still, Jacob couldn't shake off the worry which crept up his back and nestled into the back of his head.

He went alone because Evie said she would follow up his lead from yesterday's mission and Henry had stayed behind to help her. Cautious for a reason he couldn't quite name Jacob approached Babylon Alley. His steps quickly picking up speed when he heard an enraged yell (it sounded all too familiar) and the shrieks of children in response.

There was a fight. No. There had been a fight and a number of older children, including Clara, was attempting to end it by dragging the attacker away. It was a reflex rather than a decision to step in, but despite the fact that Jacob outweighed him many times, Jack was able to put up enough off a fight to make it near impossible for Jacob to drag him away. His strength and determination were almost stunning, almost admirable if it weren't for the other child he had beaten to a pulp. “Quick, find the Rooks and a carriage, let them take him to Lambeth, my order.” Clara nodded, immediately directing a number of children around to carry out his command without a second thought. His grip on Jack tightened.

When they had carried the boy away and the illusion of calm had settled over Babylon Alley again Clara addressed him directly. “He can't stay here.” It went without saying, but it needed to be said anyway. There wasn't much else to say anyway.

“I don't want to stay here!” Jack spat back. He hadn't stopped struggling, but his enraged cries had ebbed away.

“I wasn't talking to you,” Clara replied, trying her best to mask her fear. “Why did you come here?”

“Was looking for this... troublemaker”, Jacob replied, seizing Jack close to stop him from moving but it didn't help. It only sent him into another fit of “let me gos”. Jacob was sure that if given the chance Jack would have bitten him. “Let's talk later,” he said, already turning away from Clara. “Let us know if you need anything.” He saw her nod, and it was the last he saw of her that day.

Thankful for all the back alleys of the boroughs Jacob dragged Jack by the back of his collar till they were out of earshot. Part of him wanted to shove him against a wall, it wouldn't take much more than the strength of his arms but it would keep Jack still and maybe he'd even listen as he scolded him, but Jacob hated himself for as much as thinking about it. He hated having to drag Jack by his collar too, but there was nothing he could do about it. “I won't let you go, Jack,” Jacob replied, much calmer than he felt. “If I let you go you're just gonna end up at the asylum again.” It was a much nicer way of saying that he was the only thing standing between him and that place. It was also the first time that Jack stopped dead in his tracks, if only for a moment.

“Like you care!” He squirmed in his grip, but Jacob, now quite tired of it stopped and heaved Jack up onto a ledge so they were on eye level. Jack spat, Jacob only blinked disgruntled. “You're not my father, I don't have to do anything you say.”

“No, I'm not,” Jacob agreed. Suddenly unsure how to go on, he hadn't considered even getting this far, he had acted on a mere impulse. Evie would know what to do, he thought. “Jack, listen to me,” his grip softened, just enough to let him know he wasn't planning on hurting him. “I'm not going to let them take you back, no matter if the nurse stays or not, but I can only do that if you stay with me.”

If Jack had wanted to make any attempts to break free he paused now, standing almost frozen. “I'm not asking you to trust me or to like me, but that's how it is – if you continue you that”, Jacob freed a hand to point towards the alley they had left behind. “They will lock you up again, I can keep you safe, but you will have to let me, do you understand that?”

Jack blinked. Once, twice, then shook off Jacob's hand as if it were the disgusting sludge of the Thames. “Swear on your mother's grave,” he ordered.

His win seemed almost too easy, but Jacob was willing to take it for now. Nodding he muttered, “I swear… I swear on my mother's grave.” He took it for no more than a child's vow, empty except for its promise and was surprised at how it easy it came and how honest it felt. Possibly because there was no lie in it. Jacob couldn't resent her for dying and leaving them, although he had as a child if only for a short while, their grandmother had been good with words, good at explaining how it was simply nature's cruelty and not their mother's wish to leave them.

When he let go, his hand briefly brushed Jack's throat to check for any marks and a quiet “sorry,” came from his mouth. “Come,” he offered his hand.

Jack didn't take it, but he climbed down anyway and stared up at him with cold, hard eyes. “Where are we going?”

Lost, Jacob stared at him, he really wasn't cut out for this, he thought, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. “For starters the shop my sister's fiancé owns, there's a bath and you're in dire need of one,” Jacob replied after thinking for a moment.

“I don't like your sister, I don't want to and I want no bath,” Jack declared frustrated, but followed Jacob anyway, stomping his feet deliberately with every step. It turned into discontent trudging when Jacob promised there would be food.

Dumbfound Jack stared at the steaming bath (Jacob had made sure the water was nicely warm), then once realising that Jacob hadn't left, up at his new self-declared protector. “I can wash myself.”

“Your wounds will need cleaning again, you're as filthy as a sewer rat.” Jack winced, looking quite disgruntled but there was no further argument. “What? You think they bandaged themselves?” It was only now that Jack seemed to consider someone else other than the hospital staff had taken care of him. Despite the fact that he winced more than a couple times Jack wouldn't allow any help as he undressed himself and set foot into the bath. The warm water strange and fascinating to him. With half a smile Jacob watched him examine the soaps and scented bottles. When Jack shot him a questioning glance Jacob only nodded and crouched next to the tub. “My sister's”, he explained as Jack poured some red and blue liquids into the water, trailing lines through the colours as they mixed. More interested in the red than the blue, his eyes were oddly transfixed on it.

Once all the dirt had been washed out Jack's hair revealed itself to ash blond and his face showed a number of pale freckles hidden beneath dust and dirt. But it was the way his ribs showed and the cuts and bruises on his otherwise pale skin Jacob's eyes were drawn to first. There were some old burns on his torso which hadn't healed nicely. Reluctantly Jack let him wash the blood from the fight off his knuckles and face. His hands would heal in no time and his nose wasn't broken, so that was a relief for Jacob, but that didn't take away the sorrow which squirmed in his gut. “Why did you keep hitting him, Jack?”

It took a moment for Jack to snap out of his thoughts, and when he did he tilted his head, his eyes strangely quizzical. “I wanted to.” There was hardly any emotion in his words. “He made me angry, it's his fault.”

No, Jacob thought but knew that there would be no getting through to him on that subject. “Do you want to fight, Jack?” It was the wrong word, but how in the world did you ask an eight-year-old if he was ready to kill. “Do you want to learn how to?”

Sneering Jack grabbed the towel from his hands to dry his face and tossed it back. “I can fight, I beat him, I'm stronger than everybody, except adults,” he boasted, leaning back against the tub to enjoy what remained of the water's warmth.

“No, that wasn't a fight and I think you know it, that was brutal and unfair,” Jacob explained quietly, with so much calm it surprised himself. “And deep down I think you know that very well.”

“Pshh– He was weak that's all, it was his fault anyway,” Jack replied, kicking at the water and scowling in frustration. “Don't take pity on me.”

“I don't.”

“You do,” Jack said and with that, the discussion seemed over. He picked at a scab on his knee. There wasn't much to argue here anyway so Jacob dropped the topic as well.

“Do you want to fight Jack?” He asked again into the silence, trying to carry what he didn't know how to say through in the undertone of his words. For a while, there was only the splashing of water to be heard, and Jacob was mulling over Jack's most recent behaviour, if he didn't want his nurse to be right events like this had to be prevented in the future. “I can teach you how to fight Jack, but you have to be honest with me.” The splashing stopped for a moment and Jack seemed to think, but then it started again and although he said nothing Jacob felt like he had gotten his answer.

Henry's old clothes were too big for him and the sleeves and trouser legs had to be rolled up too many times to make him fit into them, and there was no denying that Jack hated it but he kept his mouth pressed into a firm white line and only scowled at all three of them to make his displeasure known. Just like Evie did when he didn't answer her question about why he had seemingly kidnapped a child.

If Jack didn't like him around, Jack liked him being busy even less and most of all he didn't like Evie who was against most of what he considered fun. Most of what Jacob allowed him to get away with for the greater good. One of Jacob's primary goals had become exhausting Jack over his training so he wouldn't have the fight and will to start any fights, but of course, that didn't stop it from happening.

It wasn't Jack's bloody face and bruised knuckles that worried Jacob, it was what they promised his victim looked like and the calm Jack displayed like he had walked through a storm and now it was over. On some days he looked so rattled Jacob couldn't help but to feel sorry for him too. On those days Jack was shaky, rattled and easily frustrated with everything and anything.

Evie said Jack reminded her of him, but to Jacob, it was mostly superficial. What he saw in Jack he had seen before, but it hadn't been as small and fierce as in Jack, whose anarchism was only slowly opening its jaws to unleash its true potential. And this time Jacob could see the lines clearly, maybe it had never meant to be clear with Maxwell, he couldn't say so surely, but he had been particularly blind to the warnings from the first day on. He certainly wouldn't let Jack end up the same way, that much Jacob was sure off. He wouldn't give him up to heedless decisions and reckless behaviour and “why nots”. He wouldn't give him up to the smoke and the flames, and the ash in his lungs.

Once he had been like him, but that had been many years ago. Once he had been like Maxwell too, and that had not been so long ago. But the pain had dulled and the cavity inside his chest, if not closed, Jacob had found a way to soothe the ache otherwise than through screams of anger and the taste of blood in his mouth.

One of the few things that Jack loved – it was hard to use the word like with him because he only ever seemed to live in extremes of his emotions, but one of the things he loved was the train hideout, and Jacob was sure that without him he would have gotten rid of it sooner. It held no practical use and he was starting to see that, although he knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of it before Evie left. There was too little time to relocate everything just now. The only thing Jack hated was when it passed through Lambeth, and if he was restless before, running through the wagons, jumping on Evie's bed and climbing the shelves and dressers just to prove that he could, he was even worse when they passed through Lambeth. It was then that it was impossible to keep him still and quiet and that he would lash out even when the situation presented was otherwise reasonable to him.

It was an early morning, they had spent the night following a lead on the new Grand Master. They were tired and Jacob couldn't help but how the sight of the Alhambra shook up his feelings when they passed it and he couldn't keep himself from gazing at the now quiet construction site. Lewis had insisted on overseeing the construction, having done so twice before Jacob had little doubt the theatre would be just as glorious as before. They had brought in Aleck who had been thrilled to help with the technological advancement of the building. As well as being able to add it to his network of telegraphs.

As calculated as his sister could be, Jacob doubted she was in this instant, although she maybe seemed aware that he was more compliable now. “What happened Jacob?” Her voice was missing the usual edge. “I know you didn't kidnap Jack, but if you want me to help you, I need to know what happened.” She didn't believe it, not to the full extent at least, he could tell that from the tone in her voice, but he could also tell that she wanted to believe it. The notion made him smile just the barest bit.

“No, I guess from their perspective, I did kidnap Jack,” he admitted, shrugging. There was no use denying his nurse and doctor had certainly thought of it like that. “By God, Evie, I swear I didn't plan to, but I had to.” She looked at him with question in her eyes, and the words just spilt out, unfiltered and unwanted and Jacob felt the burn of smoke in his throat, scared to say what he didn't know how to tell her.

He told her of how he had found Jack. Of his cries, of his sharp nails buried into the skin of his arms, of his nurse and how she had reeked of abuse. How getting him out had been one big fight, not only against the asylum but against a thrashing Jack as well. “I don't know what I would have done if I had been alone with her, but I know she would be dead now, Evie.” It was only now that he noticed how his voice shook with anger he had thought long forgotten. “The worst is that there's nothing I can do about it, even if I just go back and kill her I…” He blinked, confused and frustrated and then knowing, suddenly understanding what had been obvious all along. “I'd just be robbing Jack of his kill, she's his.” He hissed those last words with all the bitterness and resentfulness he should have felt for Max and couldn't bring himself to. “And I don't care if she's gone or not, I'm not going to let them,” he pointed towards where he imagined the imposing building of the asylum would be to emphasise his point, “take him back, I don't care if he's a liability, he doesn't deserve that.” And we might just save him, he thought but couldn't say, we might just save him from what he would turn into else.

It was only now that Jacob had realised how quiet Evie had been throughout his whole explanation. He couldn't remember the last time she had just stopped to listen, not frown and ridicule and oddly enough despite his situation the thought formed a thin, wry smile on his face.

When she finally spoke, she nodded first, in clear understanding of the situation. “You aware that he's your responsibility Jacob, are you? He won't even listen to me.”

“I know,” he said, voice growing tired but he couldn't say why. Surprisingly she neither patronised him nor argued with him so all Jacob could do was trudge after her in dumbfounded silence as they continued their way back. For the first time in a long while, Jacob hated having to part with Evie as she went towards Whitechapel and the small curiosity shop and he left for the train. He hated it, but he was glad for it, glad for regaining a little of what they had been trying to revive so desperately in between work, sleepless nights and tired arguments.

Jack had fallen asleep in the big chair across from Evie's bed and someone, he supposed Agnes had laid a blanket over him. When he slept Jack seemed no different to any other kid if you ignored the scars on the back of his hands and face that were starting to stay after the fights he was getting himself into. There was no doubt he would make a fine assassin one day, fierce and relentless but efficient. Jacob would see to it that whatever raged within him would be controlled.

It was of Maxwell that he thought when he looked at Jack now, even though they looked nothing alike he reminded him too much of the man he had faced on the roof across to the factory.

All of that had been Maxwell, as little as Jacob liked to admit to himself he hadn't changed that day. He had always been this way, Jacob had simply chosen to turn a blind eye in favour of lingering touches and a place to turn to. That it should have been Evie he should have turned to and not Maxwell, Jacob had understood even then, but it hadn't been meant to play out that way. By now he knew that it had been inevitable in some, in most ways. He couldn't explain it, but his gut knew.

Jack stirred when Jacob picked him up to put him to bed.

_Cree, craw toad's foot,  
Geese walk barefoot._

It was the only part of a nursery rhyme he remembered their grandmother singing to them to put them to sleep. She had sung it to their mother when she had been just as little and while Jacob hadn't ever been able to reconstruct the song except for the two lines and its melody, he was fond of it nonetheless.

Jack's eyes blinked open for a single instant as if to assure himself that he was safe but quickly fell asleep again when Jacob repeated the little rhyme. He had nightmares more than often. Jacob could tell, and it didn't do him any good to sleep in the chair and not on his couch, but even if Jack didn't care it made himself feel better to not leave him alone. So Jacob leaned back, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

 

_Crawley, January 1854_

Quietly George had slipped through the door into the now just as quiet home. A knock wasn't necessary. Nora wouldn't be expecting anybody, but she wouldn't kick him out either.

He found her upstairs, sitting on the bed of the twins with folded hands and a thoughtful glance. “Oh, George, I'm sorry I would have told you.” Nora hadn't glanced up when he had entered the room, but the stairs might have given him away. Ethan's absence had made them forced friends, able to appreciate each other's company for the lack of choice they were faced with. They had gotten to know each other well enough for her to know that he would hate missing Ethan moving the twins. Not for her sake, not for Ethan's, not for his own but for Jacob and Evie's.

George sighed, his glance sweeping the room. Once and for all tidy, with no playing children around to scatter toys and clothes and everything else that got into their hands on the floor. “How did it go?” He asked with another sigh. It hadn't been Nora's fault that he had been sent on a mission. Just like it hadn't been her fault that Ethan had decided to take the twins to their new home now. For all Jacob and Evie were concerned this particular house was their home and Ethan had brought them into a stranger's house.

Nora hadn't cleared out the room as if she expected them to be back and given day, but George had a feeling this was the last time he'd see this house in a long while.

“As well as expected,” she shrugged, then smiled. “They swapped clothes.” From the proud twinkle in her eyes, he could read they had gone against the rules. “My stupid son-in-law was none the wiser.” Nora chuckled.

Frowning George had crossed the distance between them and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to feel other than strangely nostalgic for a yesterday that would never again be.

For six years he had cursed Ethan for fucking off to India with no regard for his children (or him but that was another story), that if Nora hadn't been he might as well had gone after him and dragged him back to Crawley for better or for worse. Nobody would have argued that Ethan hadn't been fit to raise children when Cecily had died. They would have found a way, but of course Ethan, thoughtless and heedless hadn't allowed them to stop him. He'd been gone before anyone had been able to talk sense into him and frankly George was still pissed about that.

Once again he scanned the room. Saw the indents and scrapes on walls, furniture and floor, Jacob and Evie had left while playing carelessly. When he closed his eyes he could almost hear them running about on their bare feet, yelling across the rooms at each other because distance couldn't stop any conversation they were having. They'd just become so much louder.

“How's the mill?” Nora asked into the quiet, with too much sympathy.

George snorted. “Not so bad, now that it's mine.” And she hummed with just as much sympathy, needing no words to say “I told you so.”

When the council had made their offer she had been the one to deliver the news, but it had made him no less reluctant. For as long as he'd worked there, he'd hated the place, being glad when Ethan and Cecily had shown up. They hadn't just saved his life that day, they had changed it for the better and he would always be grateful for that. Even though it had made him a stickler for rules. Knowing no other way to keep what he had gained. Even if that meant having to argue with Ethan over the stupidest things.

“There's pie, you should take some,” he could feel Nora nudge him with her elbow, “it's too much now that my lovely gluttons are gone.”

He didn't reply, but a faint smile washed over his face.

They sat in silence for a long while, till George bid his silent goodbyes and headed back downstairs to scout the kitchen for the promised pie. Two plates stood untouched on the kitchen counter. She must have made them thinking Ethan would stay, at least for a little while, but knowing Ethan, he had likely grabbed his children and escorted them home without further ado. Thinking it had to be that way to make the transition as short and painless as possible. George cut himself a slice with the help of his hidden blade. Apple pie that smelled of cinnamon. The other would have to be peach pie. Evie loved peaches like no other fruit. Nora was good at miraculously acquiring them for her favourite granddaughter.

In silence, he ate, wondering why he had ever wished for this house to be quiet when it made him nauseous now. To think that he had missed them by only a few hours. Knowing that Ethan had counted on his absences, not knowing why, but knowing that it had been important. Had he worried George would stop him? He wouldn't have… Perhaps would have for the sake of the twins.

George sought a plate and lifted two halves of pie onto it and shielding the whole thing with a towel. He wouldn't get around to bringing the pie (a very stupid excuse) over until late evening till Jacob and Evie were asleep. Which had nothing to do with not wanting to see them, but with work and the stupid hope (he knew better) that it would get him anywhere if he caught Ethan alone. When no one opened him George banged his fist against the door more fiercely. “I'll wake your rascals if you don't let me in”, he warned Ethan as he scowled at the door which remained largely unimpressed.

This time the door was opened. “Finally,” George found himself muttering under his breath as he stepped inside, regardless of whether or not Ethan wanted him to. Not stomping, but setting his heels with deliberate force onto to the ground to make his mood known.

There was the barest apologetic smile on his best friend's face when their eyes met and George's scowl turned bitter and dark. Hating how much he still liked to see him smile.

Ethan hadn't written him not even a short one-liner to tell him to he would come back and gather his twins to bring them home. Ethan hadn't come to see him. Ethan had packed up his children and left for the house he had left in such a hurry six years ago. “The great Ethan Frye finally decides to show his face.” George would have spit on the ground before his feet if he had thought Ethan worth of that much in this very moment and wouldn't have regretted the action anyway.

“I meant to– when the twins were settled in...” It was a flimsy excuse for the fact that Ethan had been well aware that he had been putting his best friend last when he should have put him first along with everything else. “All right, it wasn't fair, I didn't mean to...” Ethan folded his arms in defence as George kept on scowling, not wanting to forgive him. Knowing that he had no right to feel as angry as he was for the reason that he thought right, knowing that he couldn't help it either. Sometimes Ethan made him feel like he had seen him right through long ago, even though that couldn't be. Cecily maybe, but not headstrong, impulsive Ethan Frye who would so often miss the forest for the trees.

Sighing George lifted his hand that held the plate. “Pie?” Ethan snorted, then nodded and made their way towards the living room.

George couldn't help but note that it didn't look like children lived in this house. If he hadn't known better he would have guessed the twins to be still with their grandmother. Thinking that Evie and Jacob would easily make it look like half a dozen children lived here instead of two soon enough. “Peach or apple?” George asked and cut Ethan a slice of apple pie when he replied. They were going to leave enough for the twins, he told himself. They were sitting on the couch, legs brushing and George hated how that still singed the skin under his clothes.

He wanted to tell him how Evie's favourite was peach pie and how Jacob didn't care as long as it was pie, but he would always leave the peach pie for his sister. Pretending he didn't like it when George had seen him wolf it down in Evie's absence without a care in the world way too many times before it had been declared his sister's favourite.

But he didn't. Telling himself that it was payback and wondering if Ethan had become wiser about who was wearing a dress right now, but doubting that. Ethan wasn't that easy to trick, but he also hadn't seen his twins grow up. They were effectively strangers to him. Just as much as the Ethan sitting next to him felt like a stranger now compared to the man who had left them all for a country so far away. A stranger compared to the man who had rescued him from the bandits together with his late wife. A stranger compared to the man who he thought his friend.

“Thank you, George, I mean it.” Out of the blue Ethan had broken their silence and clasped his shoulder, sending a buzz of warmth through his clothes that would have left a mark on George's skin if the heat had been real and not imagined. Comfort. Warmth. Want. The knowledge that he couldn't have it clear as day. George swallowed hard, forcing the pie down with all his might. Feeling bitter. Knowing that he shouldn't forgive Ethan that easily, if not for himself then for the sake of his twins who were too young still.

“For what?” George turned his head away, shrugging the hand off his shoulder in an attempt to clear his head from the thoughts that couldn't have a place in his life. “For making sure your brats aren't spoiled rotten? – That's human decency Eth, no need to thank me.” Cold and distant. It was the only way he knew how to deal with it, without letting it show. Things were much better this way.

A smile tugged at the corner's of Ethan's mouth as he devoured the rest of his pie and tried a slice of the peach pie. There was no need to tell him that Nora had wanted him to stay, George could see it on Ethan's face, the second-guessing of his own actions. Thoughtless as ever. George doubted he would ever change, although he thought he could already feel a shift in character of his best friend. In retrospect, he shouldn't have attributed that to parenthood.

Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see the tan on Ethan's skin, wondering where it ended in pale lines along his torso and legs, realising that he shouldn't think about that. So George looked away as if that helped to keep his thoughts in line. He wanted to find out anyway.

Neither of them spoke much that night. Each for their own reasons.

* * *

He had tried, but George couldn't stop the laughter despite the tremendous despair on Ethan's face that slowly turned sour. “I'd like you to tell them apart when they swap clothes,” he hissed, arms folded

“I can-” George breathed, trying to stifle the laughter. “Evie's got freckles.” Although that was a useless piece of advice because despite being only six they had figured out how to hide those with a little makeup. “Okay, not helpful,” he smirked when Ethan kept staring at him sour-faced. But all he could do was to keep laughing quietly in response.

“And Jacob doesn't like me, stop stating the obvious.”

There was no lie in that. Jacob was taking the transition harder than Evie did. “He'll come through,” George assured him with a pat on the shoulder, fingers trailing off his clothes before he wouldn't remember how to do so. They grasped at air for a moment before he retrieved his hand. “Give it time – they're children, but they're not stupid, he understands that you left them and he's rightfully hurt because of it.”

The look that Ethan gave him for that statement was a quizzical one that George couldn't entirely make sense off. “I wish I could say I'm as confident about this as you.” He shook his head.

“They're six and they've known you for barely a week,” George reminded him growling. Still frowning about the look on Ethan's face. He wouldn't forgive him. He couldn't forgive him. It couldn't be that easy. Despite the laughter. Despite all the good will Ethan had been magically willing to summon over the course of the last week. But he couldn't keep the words from spilling, that he'd held way too long on his tongue. “Stop bloody acting like you are the only one affected by Cecily's death! You left them – you can come back to me when you've owned up to that mistake!” George snarled and turned to leave the room.

“I don't–” Ethan sounded just as bitter as him saying those two words.

“Oh, of course, _The Great Ethan Frye_ doesn't act like that,” George snapped back, mouth twisting in displeasure. “But yes you do Ethan, she was my friend too you soddy brick and the mother of your children and Nora's daughter and if anyone else other than me would have bothered to check in on you and seen the state you were in nobody would have thought your moronic arse capable of childcare and left them with you.” Like acid the words dripped from his mouth, sharp and burning, leaving grooves in their wake. Unfair or not, there was an undeniable truth in his words, enough to hurt Ethan, but George took no joy from that knowledge. Hating himself for the words he had spoken, but being unable to take them back now that they had come out.

Under different circumstances he would have apologised in words and not in the way his shoulders and head sank, turning around to show Ethan just how tired it all had made him. “You git have the fuckin' audacity to disappear for more than half a decade and seemingly expect everyone to play your little game of ideal world and happy family now that you're back! You've been in Crawley for not even a month and from how it appears have decided to bury all friendships along with your dead wife, well you can sod off if that's the case.”

That was just as mean. George closed his eyes, swallowing that feeling he didn't know what to do with. The one that felt like betrayal towards a friend, even though he couldn't help it. The one that still made every touch burn itself onto his skin, ignoring all rhyme and reason of what should be.

And he shouldn't have forgiven him. Not that easily. Not in that instant, when Ethan sighed, admitting to the truth in his words offering him peace that George would make him work for, for almost another year. Because it wasn't fair. Not towards him and especially not towards his twins. Because it was easier than to admit why it hurt to forgive more than it hurt to stay upset, even in pretence.

Not quite in love and not quite over it. Not quite in love, but mourning the loss of one. Not quite anything that he wanted to be. Wishing he could hate either for what they had done to him. But he didn't and that was the harsh truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on the 7th of October.
> 
> Preview: "Jacob breathed in, allowing his thoughts to wander for a moment and explore the possibility that Maxwell was still something to him, in a way that he had trouble naming because it brought more hurt than clarity."


	4. Distractions And Their Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are gaps in Jacob's life that need filling. Perhaps the one that eventually leads to Lydia raises the most questions. This is the beginning of it.

_London, February 1869_

Evie had been gloating over the invitations the Disraelis had sent, quite enjoying how much Jacob didn't want to attend. Partially because he knew he couldn't refuse, being roped in for new adventures by Misses Disraeli that was if she chose to come to him with another matter, but also because he held no interest in feigning good manners. Jack, finely attuned to the swings of his mood, immediately had refused to go and it had cost Jacob all his good will and promises to almost convince him when Evie had suggested leaving him in the care of the other assassins for an evening. Reluctant but relieved, each for their own reasons, Jack and Jacob had agreed to her words. It was still better than having Jack accompany them, something which even Jack could see despite his unwillingness or simply anything was better than to attend a dinner party in Jack's eyes

“Behave yourself,” Jacob had warned him, crouching to be on eye level with Jack. It was something he tried to do regularly when they were talking, attempting to make Jack feel on par with him and that was easier to do when on eye level. “It's just one night, you can do that, can't you?” Pausing Jacob looked up to catch Jack's stare, waiting for the nod which eventually came, but didn't ease the queasy feeling from his stomach.

It was a chance to wear the Suit again, but this time Jacob only felt it weigh heavy on his shoulders. Or maybe that was just the ash in his lungs. But Jacob knew it was because this time he didn't wear it for the purpose of infiltration, this time it would get to be what it had been intended for. To make him look the part, just like Maxwell had intended, but Jacob couldn't even smile about that.

“Do as they say,” Jacob instructed him. “When you're asked a question, think of what you want to say or do and say or do the exact opposite, do you think you can do that?”

Jack rubbed his nose, scrunching up his face. “I don't know,” he replied honestly. He had come to find out that there was no use in lying to Jacob most of the time, that for some reason he could see him right through, but only most of the time. “Will you give me a target if I do?”

Jacob's mouth flattened into a paper thin line, and this time Jack frowned with anger because he knew exactly what it meant. “Unfair! You're unfair.” He stomped his foot in anger, fists clenched.

“Our targets aren't children, Jack,” was all that Jacob replied, giving Jack something to mull over while they were away. Not that Jack cared particularly for Evie or Henry.

Growling in a fit of anger Jack stomped. “I hate this,” he hissed. “Hate it, hate it, hate it!” But he let Jacob fix his shirt and waited with him for the assassins to arrive. Albeit visibly unhappy.

Jacob was sure that the Rooks, a game of cards and a brawl would have been more to Jack's liking, but a largely uneventful evening was more to Jacob's liking and since neither of them liked where it was leading, this was the most fair.

The dress Evie had bought was embroidered and matched the decorations on Henry's suit, for which he had taken inspiration and aid from Duleep Singh. A matter Jacob held no interest in but knew extensively about since he had been present at the discussion of it. Of course, there was never any need for him to attend Evie's lessons. By now it was more a matter of habit and not even to assure her that he meant to work just as hard as she did. It was also a good way to pick up the language without putting much effort into it. She would expect him to know how to speak Indian if only broken on any future visits and Jacob knew that he would fair better with practical use than like her to sit over dusty books and vocabulary sheets. But unless she would end up asking the right questions, he had no intention to tell her. She didn't need to know, but he wouldn't go as far and lie to her.

They arrived timely, Evie had seen to it, hounding both Henry and him long before it was time and Jacob had found it hard not to get on her nerves in return. But the look of confusion on her face when he didn't follow her expectations was just as gratifying as her upset frown. It certainly amused him nonetheless.

Of course Misses Disraeli was delighted to hear the news about Evie's engagement, which Jacob was sure only enhanced her determination to find him a suitable female companion for the evening. Or, even better, for life. She had been chatting on about it incessantly much to Jacob's dismay and a young woman's amusement. She was trying to hide it, but the way her smile formed dimples betrayed her every effort. It would have been hard not to smile about it if he hadn't felt so utterly… out of place.

Jacob knew how to make polite conversation when it was expected of him, but just because that was the case it didn't mean he was fond of it. Just like Evie would never be fond of her infernal contraptions. He was sure she thought of this dress the same as of the other one and every which had come before.

The dinner ended but the party went on and all Jacob wanted was to go home.

Smiling, but weary Jacob had extracted himself from the claws of their company. He'd sought fresh air and alcohol, found one on the way and the other at an open window. He would have liked a balcony or a terrace better but the house offered neither. Closing his eyes, he took in the cool of the evening air, scrambling through a thicket of emotions for a clear thought. Ultimately deciding that he simply didn't want to be here because there was no better name for it. It was all he could boil the unhappy feeling that sat in his gut and scrunched its nose at everything and everyone down to at the moment. Not that this made him happy either.

With wandering thoughts, Jacob barely noticed how his field of vision had slipped into tones of blue with a few select golden coats for Evie and Henry alone. The eagle vision dulled everything but the voices of the crowd, although Jacob found them much easier to ignore this way.

She had to push into his vision and make him deliberately chase away the blue to make herself noticed. “You look new and uncomfortable,” it was a mere observation, said with a little smirk that reminded him of Evie in her mischievous moments.

“Neither,” Jacob stated, unsure what to make of her appearance. “Is there something you would like?” Her attention was neither unwanted nor unexpected, it was his mood that got in the way. 

“Maybe,” she replied, pointedly, not losing her mischief. The dimples showed again and Jacob tried to remember her name for someone surely had mentioned it.

It was all about her, and yet it wasn't. It was her presence in every essence that made it suddenly so very clear to him why it felt so wrong. And it wasn't so much that everything felt wrong but that by wearing the Suit Jacob had condemned himself to feel like Maxwell was missing. It shouldn't have been like this, he thought, trying hard to keep a straight face. The young lady had done nothing to make him frown.

“I heard you are the man to ask if a decent Lady wants to stroll the Devil's Acre,” she leaned in to whisper.

Somehow Jacob couldn't help but smile, despite how much he dreaded to repeat that evening. “Did we have a little chat with a little birdy?” He leaned in to close the gap between them just enough to make it look like they were conspiring. “I haven't the foggiest clue what you're talking about.” He wouldn't be _that_ stupid twice.

Exasperated she raised her hands. “You'd rather I'd be bored to death by my tutors and instructors?” She gasped in mock offence and shock. “Would there be means to... convince you?” She leaned in closer, batting her eyes knowingly.

Her invitation for trouble couldn't have been written clearer, but it was only when he couldn't help but to consider it that she backed away and laughed into her hand, then apologised. “I do not mean to mock you,” she pointed out, “but formal conversations couldn't be more dreadful.”

“Wouldn't you know,” Jacob smirked.

“Yes, and you should thank me because as long as we're talking you shouldn't endure any further attempts to persuade you to seek companionship, I am off the ripe old age where women need to be married off quickly before they lose their youth.”

“You are of the ripe _old age_...” Jacob repeated, amused. “Pray tell me, how _old_.”

Playfully she slapped his arm. “You don't ask that.” Then there was a deliberate pause, which she used to turn up her nose. “Nineteen.” She glanced at him. “Oh, don't look like that, many others my age are already married if not betrothed and have at least a single child if they're not expecting their second, don't you know that.” She expressed it in a quite comedic way.

“I know now,” Jacob replied and emptied his glass only to replace it with a full one. Bringing a second one that he offered her, and would have drunk himself if she hadn't taken it.

“Charming, handsome and considerate, my, what lies your sister is spinning,” she declared quite delighted and obviously amused. “I might like you after all.”

Her name was Valérie, Jacob later learnt when she was long gone and they were on their way back, much to Evie's amusement. Much to his own frustration, it was hard to argue with her, but no matter how charming Valérie was – in the end, she was just that.

Evie's eyes sparkled knowingly when she saw the invitation Val had given him, making him merely feel guilty for what he didn't feel, knowing he should share her feelings to some extent. Swallowing the frustration her happy chatter made him feel Jacob grew silent so he wouldn't snap at her, limiting himself to a few wry smiles and words every now and then.

He couldn't say why he had taken it, the invitation that was, but he was certainly regretting it now that Richmond Terrace loomed over him. Something told him he should have taken a window. Valérie would have liked that, he thought to himself.

Jack had complained about him leaving much more than usual this time and chances were he had sensed that Jacob's excuses were flimsy and as far from the truth as possible. But even if it hadn't been for Jack, to say that he had the time to spare was a big fat lie and if Evie ever found out she would metaphorically hang him for sure.

The house was surprisingly empty as he entered, but wondering only briefly about why because Val answered that in her endless chatter quite extensively. It was her father's who was on duty, being some important military official, who had left the house to his eldest son and daughter, both from different mothers and marriages. She had taken his hand as she led him inside. Dumbfound Jacob had followed, mesmerised by her chatter that made him think of a songbird when he didn't really listen to anything but the pleasant tone of her voice.

Thankfully she didn't force him to take her to the Devil's Acre, because Jacob was sure by now that he wouldn't have been able to tell her no.

Nothing really happened, other than that she sat him down for tea and tugged at sleeve as she showed him around.

If Maxwell had been fire and smoke to him, Valérie was a whirlwind in disguise of a puffy cloud, looking much softer than she was. But she laughed at how bad he was at card games and chess and almost anything that required strategy and thinking for an extensive time, excited to teach him her tricks and marvelled at the rather poorly executed tricks he had picked up from his time with Maxwell.

What guilt he had felt for stealing away to the Alhambra at any given moment, Jacob didn't feel when he left for Richmond Terrace whenever his time allowed it. It was only ever when he left it that it crept in, sinking like rocks in his gut and the little voice in his head whispered that he should simply let her be because adoring her wasn't enough.

It really was just that. Jacob adored her and he knew it wouldn't ever be anything else. Wouldn't ever be enough. So he made no effort to pretend it was, even if maybe she hoped for it. Valérie wasn't hard to read in that aspect, but Jacob couldn't fathom how she could be content with just that. Even though it was just like that.

 

_London, March 1869_

Her charade went on for about a whole month.

“I want out of this house,” she spun on her heel to face him, stomping it into the thick carpet. Unsatisfied with the muffled sound she scowled, then huffed in frustration. “You can make that happen, can't you?” Jacob blinked, surprised by her sudden frankness. “I'm being cooped up like a pretty bird in here, nobody ever lets me do anything, can you believe it I've never even touched a tea kettle before or cooked dinner, what kind of wife am I supposed to make, oh _I know_ – one that looks pretty.” The way she scowled was awfully cute Jacob thought, but he knew better than to remark on it. “I don't even want to cook, I just want to live a little, father's going to marry me off the next chance he gets and I'll be busy bearing and raising children for the next twenty years.” It was there Valérie stopped, gathering herself with a sigh. But Jacob could see her grind her teeth and clenching her jaws in dissatisfaction over the prospect.

“Is it the gentle sound of opportunity passing you by that I hear?” Jacob replied quite sympathetic, tilting his head a little to the side. 

Her open mouth ready to speak closed to form a smile. “Yes... I promise I won't run off and we don't have to visit the Devil's Acre, I won't make a fuss, just get me out of here for a day or three or fifteen… before it drives me up the walls.” But it already was doing just that, he could see it in the lines on her face that made her look so tired.

With a sigh, Jacob thought how he would regret this later. “Don't steal your brother's clothes,” he gave her a knowing look, but when Valérie puffed her cheeks up he couldn't help but laugh. “I have a better idea, but you need to give me some time, I'll come back soon.”

“Promise me.” She closed the distance between them in a rush, her steps sure and pointed. Her eyes fixed hard on him. Jacob nodded, unable to break the stare.

Disregarding the fact that Evie was taller than her and that he couldn't simply ask his sister for a share of clothes without having to endure her impatient questions, he borrowed one of her lesser worn outfits. Lately, she only switched between two or three of them anyway. Surely she wouldn't notice if one of them went missing for a while. It wasn't even hard to find one which was inconspicuous enough to suit his purpose, which also wouldn't be missed.

“Oh, this is much better! I love it!” Valérie laughed. “Even though it's a little too big.” To which Jacob only replied with a shrug as he watched her almost dance towards the giant mirror so she could have a better look at herself. All she had required him to do was help open her dress at the back and then had been very adamant about handling the rest by herself. “You wouldn't believe how much even my plainest dress would make me stick out like a sore thumb in a public crowd, I said papa I want a plain white dress, one that I can wear to the market and such, and it's just that but the fabric is so fine I'd just tear it if I'm not careful and if I dirty it – God forbid,” Val rolled her eyes, then looked at him thoughtfully. “What shoes go with these?” She wiggled her feet and smiled.

“I figured you had riding boots that should do,” Jacob replied.

“Excellent! Let's go!” And with that, she was already on her way to fetch the boots. Jacob followed in a daze, a smile on his lips.

It wasn't much work to sneak past the servants and out of the house past the neighbours and Valérie seemed to think it all great fun as she followed him excitedly. She had suggested taking the horses but Jacob shook his head, as much as the idea amused him. “Another time,” he grinned and took her by the arm as they ran for the carriage. She had ridden a horse before so the carriage proved little difficulty for her to steer.

“How fast do we go?” She asked, near innocently as they had made their way towards the Strand just because it was the closest thing without being forced to cross the Thames. Or perhaps because all fun things happened in the Strand.

Jacob almost regretted replying, “as fast as you like,” when she whipped the reins as hard and loud as she could, and the horses dashed forward. But only almost, and she had to slow down once they reached the more crowded streets anyway. When they passed the Alhambra she made a remark about its former glory and the shows she had seen there, but when Jacob didn't reply the subject was quickly forgotten.

“So, where would we go on a lovely evening like this...” Val pondered, purposely drawing out her words. “For a drink and a game of cards, to see a fight?” The words dance off her tongue in a sing-song, with which she tried to mask her excitement albeit doing a rather poor job. “You know I've always wanted to see a brothel from the inside, no particular reason, just curiosity, but of course they won't let women inside unless they're workers, which is tremendously unfair, if I had a cheating husband, I'd march right in there and drag him out by the neck of his collar.”

“Should I be worried on behalf of your future spouse,” Jacob mused, smiling.

She laughed. “Oh, don't worry, I will behave myself...” She parked the carriage and jumped off, firmly standing her ground with both feet. “ _Once I've had my fun_.” Smirking Valérie watched him. “Aren't you coming? I'll run off if you keep me waiting.” As if to ensure her provocation was taken seriously she took a step backwards, but she didn't need to tell him twice.

“I'll have what you are having,” Valérie declared matter of factly when she entered the pub. Once she had spotted it across the street there had been no stopping her.

“My my, no idea what's on the menu, but already demanding,” he joked. “Can you even hold your liquor?” Jacob teased.

With ease, she turned to face him as she walked, without he heels the height difference was more obvious but it hardly had any impact on the impression she gave off. “Well let's find out who ends up absolutely plastered first, shall we?” Needless to say, it was a challenge hard to refuse.

They drank a little, and maybe it was the alcohol that made him consider her cheerful chatter as flirting at this point, or maybe it was deliberate on her part. Her hands were warm where she placed them on his arm and in the fuzzy haze of alcohol it was hard not to reciprocate the gesture. She wouldn't out-drink him, that much was clear to him, it was also clear that now that she had found a challenge little else would happen this evening.

They drank more, he couldn't say who had dragged the other out of the pub and into the next, where they had found Dickens who had a mesmerising story to tell that neither of them would be able to remember later. What he remembered where the Rooks and the red coats of the Blighters, a flash of colours and the taste of blood, her mouth pressed against his, feeling oh so right for just a single moment.

She pulled him close by his collar, fingers never still tracing lines down the sides of his face, down his waistcoat and shirt. Like the flicker of a candle came the thought how very bad of an idea this was, before it was gone, blurred by alcohol and the burning touch of bare skin. 

He'd remember a haze of colours and impressions, only momentary fragments, promising more than they should, actually clear. They danced in front of Jacob's tired eyes as he blinked them awake, turning his head he found a tumble of blond hair in his face. Val leaned down to kiss him and he mumbled something that should resemble “how are you awake already.” He scrunched up his nose, the colours taking shape in front of him, but he couldn't remember her wearing a coat last night. Brown with a chequer pattern. All too familiar. It held all his memories. All his dreams. All his desires. But for all that he wanted to hate the very sight of it, he couldn't.

“Take that off,” Jacob croaked tired, a glum feeling sinking into his gut. He wanted to curse himself, but he didn't want her to ask. “Take that off,” he repeated, tugging at the all to familiar coat she wore.

“Oh, but it's cold.”

“Take my coat if you need one.” He almost snapped, turning his head away so he didn't have to see the reminder. Maxwell's coat. Out of all the things she could have picked it had to have been Maxwell's coat. As he watched her from the corner of his eyes Jacob wanted to take his words back and bury his face in her shoulder, breathe in the dust and faint memory of a scent that once belonged to the man who had loved him despite everything.

“Well, how could I refused that.” Valérie smiled as he watched her tiptoe across the floor to wherever the hell he'd left his coat. “Where are we anyway?”

Jacob breathed in, allowing his thoughts to wander for a moment and explore the possibility that Maxwell was still something to him, in a way that he had trouble naming because it brought more hurt than clarity. “Someplace nobody will ever come looking for either of us, especially not you,” Jacob said, putting on a smile that he couldn't bring to reach his eyes no matter how hard he tried.

“Scandalous.” Playfully she slapped his arm and Jacob couldn't help but grin, tired as he felt, not to mention the headache.

He hadn't wanted to come here and he especially hadn't wanted to come here for things like this, but right now he felt like he could stay forever. With Valérie the room seemed transformed. Brighter. Kinder. Easier to bear in light of the realisation of where they were.

“Can we come here again?” She mused, swinging one of her legs that hang off the side of the bed. In the silence that followed, she got up and walked away from the bed again.

“What for?” Jacob sighed, focusing his eyes on her. Not sex, no, that would be merely a bonus for her, he thought as he watched her balance an invisible line, but it was worth making a teasing a remark about it. “So you want to tell me in that big empty house there is not a single room to be in undisturbed?” The look on her face told him that it had quite obviously not been the reason for her question, he could see it in how she marvelled Maxwell's place, in her growing curiosity. But he wouldn't be able to tell her, just like he wouldn't be able to tell Evie why one of her outfits would be gone for the longest time now. “That is not a good idea,” he said at last when there was no response from Valérie.

“Why?” She inquired.

“It's just not,” Jacob replied. Closing his eyes when she came back, the gathered clothes bundled up in her arms and carded her fingers through his hair, thinking he could get used to that. From somewhere in between a tired mind and a hangover making his perception fuzzy he heard her light-heartedly complain about him falling asleep. Even if it was only for a brief moment. Sleep had always come easy inside these walls. He thought he heard her say she supposed they could find an agreement and Jacob smiled although he didn't know what for.

 

_London, April 1869_

For all the understanding Evie showed when it came to Jack and how Jacob had to make time to take care of him, else they would have more problems than those already there, what she hated the most was when he was late, still. With good reasoning, her anger could be softened into understanding lately, but Jacob didn't have that when he showed up way later than he planned to. Acknowledging that he hadn't meant to be late helped too if only a little while trying to avoid the question why. It didn't help that Jack was just as unhappy with his absence, but it did make him feel a little guilty. He tried not to meet Evie's discontentment with gritted teeth, but that was all the harder. Arguing wouldn't get them anywhere if anything it would make Val a repetition of Max for all the wrong reasons. He wouldn't be able to go through that a second time when he hadn't even healed from the first experience.

Curious and inquisitive as Valérie was she seemed to know exactly when to not ask about something. She knew when to fill a void with incessant chatter, that was just a mask for everything that wasn't there and Jacob was content to listen as long as she kept carding a hand through his hair and let him doze.

Much like with Maxwell their meetings were based on a mutual agreement to spend time together, but instead of causing mayhem, what Valérie wanted was to see the city from another side. It was something that Jacob by now had become comfortably familiar with. He even found it… calming. The only way he knew how to get a moment of peace in his world that never stood still because Evie never stood still and he was being dragged along. Like they were still children, holding hands wherever they went, firm in their belief that nothing would ever separate them.

Much like Maxwell, her presence filled a cavity previously unacknowledged.

Valérie could cloud a statement or question within a haze of words, so it would make you blink wondering if you heard right, while the chatter went on, but occasionally when everything was quiet and they were alone she dropped all that to clearly speak her mind.

Other than Evie's clothes he had stolen some of the Alhambra’s wardrobe to disguise her, but that had been after she had found the trunk of costumes at Maxwell's apartment. She had tried them all on and played the part for entertainment. It was still the only place he knew Evie or Jack or Henry, or anyone wouldn't find him and when he focused on her blinding out the rest was fairly easy. It also seemed like a fair type of revenge to execute given the emotional dilemma Maxwell had left him with Jacob argued when the thoughts that bothered him came.

“My brother says he'd like to meet you,” Valérie stated, quite matter-of-factly. She had decided to wear one of the Alhambra's more simple costumes and led him to a pub in Southwark. Led by hunger more than thirst. One of her many goals had become to try about anything and everything the market had to offer. She had eaten her way through most of the fruits and some of the fish.

“You talk to your brother… about me?” Jacob raised his brows in question.

“You don't talk to your sister about me?” She shot back, picking a piece of almost scorched rabbit of her plate. Jacob would have thought her more squeamish about the food, but as it turned out Valérie was a hungry glutton only restricted by her corsets.

“No, she would behead me,” Jacob replied just as matter-of-factly only a little more amused than she had been. “We're buried in work and here I am showing you around London.”

Val grinned. “Don't say you're not enjoying it.” Grinning himself now Jacob could merely lower his gaze, there was nothing to disagree. 

As if to make up for the lost time, the next time Jacob saw her she wasn't alone. All week it had been warm like summer, but today there was a constant shower of warm rain tapping against the windows and slowly soaking through everyone's clothes.

Her brother had been named Hiram, but any nickname that Jacob tried to come up with just sounded more ridiculous than the previous. Which wasn't really the issue, but it distracted him and kept his thoughts in order in the presence of this ridiculously handsome man. There were usually more important things than figuring out if it had been merely Maxwell or if his interests had shifted as a whole – a question to which he was sure he already knew the answer, but didn't feel prepared to deal with just yet – but Jacob couldn't shake off the thoughts. Feeling guilty for having them in the first place. Feeling like he had to eradicate them for the sake of Val, but that didn't help with the fluttery feeling singing through his every fibre when he saw Hiram.

Whether or not Valérie noticed was hard to tell, but if she did, she didn't remark on it or made it known what she thought. She knew well how to hold her tongue and Jacob was all the more glad for it. If they had truly been placing their hearts on the line, he figured it had been the moment he had broken hers, no matter if she had noticed it right away or not. But because it wasn't the case Jacob swallowed all the words on his tongue which had formed an uncomfortable coil he couldn't quite get rid of. It had seeped into his jaw and teeth, making it hard to talk without a jittery feeling that shouldn't be there. But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't help it. Couldn't help that he wanted his attention. Couldn't help the heat on his face. Couldn't help the feeling that was a queer mix in between intoxicating and nauseating twirling in his gut. Even though they did little more talking. Hoping it would later be chalked up to general nervousness because Hiram was his affair's brother.

There was no sound argument Jacob had against being left alone with Hiram that didn't amount to Valérie thinking he was scared of her brother when exactly the opposite was the case. He wasn't scared if anything he was dumbstruck by how incredibly handsome this man managed to be without even trying. There was also the flutter in his lungs and stomach and throat that would come and go as it pleased but made forming coherent thoughts quite impossible.

Hiram smiled, flashing his teeth. It was clear to both of them that they had been left alone on purpose and there was little meaning in pretending that wasn't the case. “I'm not going to break you on a wheel and quarter you for whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Hiram pointed out kindly. He had gotten up and retrieved a flask for a nearby cabinet, pouring both of them a drink now and making Jacob wonder how any person alive could look handsome doing something as simple as that. It was almost upsetting, but all he could do was nod along because there was absolutely nothing to argue with. “She looks happier talking about you than any suitor father had introduced her to, and that's saying something.”

A wry smile tried to unsuccessfully mirror Hiram's friendly demeanour. Unsure where that left him on a scale Jacob ended up caught up in his own thoughts. It wasn't what this was supposed to be, he thought to himself, but couldn't vocalise it. “I don't think I'd fit in well with this family,” Jacob mused. The metaphorical bird kept fluttering in his throat.

“I never said you were supposed to, all I'm saying is she likes your company.” Hiram smiled, and pretty as he was Jacob couldn't do much more than nod. “I'm not sure what she expects of us though...” Frowning he looked towards the door behind which Valérie had disappeared. Then with a sigh handed Jacob one of the glasses he'd been holding.

“Bonding over y'know _manly_ things.” Jacob snorted, took a sip of drink as he watched him.

Hiram laughed. “Business... hunting... sports and education?” He paused solemnly, the added with playful graveness, “the morning newspaper.”

“I see where your sister gets her character from,” Jacob couldn't help the grin. Feeling a wave of ease wash over him he leaned back into the sofa, trying to relax. The house seemed so incredibly big even with both siblings and all of its staff around that Jacob never really felt at ease, to begin with.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Hiram questioned, frowning just a little but meaning no reproach. But there was something else in his eyes, something Jacob couldn't quite place. It carried through the words from his mouth, the look in his eyes, leaving a strange aftertaste for Jacob to chew on as their conversation continued. There was a slim chance Hiram was aware of what he was doing to him, but Jacob knew the odds and he knew better than to test his luck. Especially not when Valérie occupied the back of his mind and he had to remind himself that it shouldn't matter, because things didn't work like that between them.

Jacob also couldn't trust that Hiram, like George, was at least sensible enough to not make a giant fuss like the Victorian prude he supposedly was, if this backfired for him. He knew that it was incredibly stupid to think that some years with the Assassins could turn somebody inside out in their beliefs just like that. (Which proposed an interesting question that he had yet to answer). He had been lucky and that twice now, that much he understood very well.

There were two things Jacob was sure of, however, now that Valérie had decided to make Hiram part of his life as well. One, that whatever it had been between him and Maxwell hadn't been an exception to the rule, because he wouldn't feel like he did around Hiram otherwise, although he would have liked for his feelings to shut up and keep his life simple. And two, that he didn't fucking know how to deal with it. (And perhaps three, that it was so much easier to just drown all that in Valérie's presence).

While Valérie's incessant chatter usually helped to take his mind off whatever gruesome responsibility Evie had set in front of him it didn't help him take his mind off of Hiram. Evie's call for work however did and Jacob gladly followed it instead of pondering overdue questions that had been too easy to ignore when he had been with Maxwell.

 

_London, May 1869_

With George, the council and the Templars on their back for the duration Evie had agreed to stay in London the decision to cross the bridge when he came to it had been an easy one. There weren't many men like Maxwell Roth, so for a while, Jacob had been content to think him an exception. That had been much easier than to consider there was more to it when he had still been able to bury himself in work and books and more work from sunrise to sundown. And now Hiram was proving that theory so blatantly wrong, Jacob couldn't help the frustration.

The thought came with less of a shock than expected, although it sat uncomfortably for several days or weeks (it came in waves with pauses in between) while his brain was running through past encounters and relationships, doing a great deal more of reflection than Jacob had wanted to because it always came with waves of distress and revelations. In retrospect, did it make sense that he found himself attracted to men as well as women? Jacob couldn't answer that question as clearly as he would have liked to, but he knew exactly why he had found Maxwell so alluring and that hadn't had much to do with anything except his acceptance of all that Jacob was. Acceptance, admiration and he had taken delight in his company. A thought which always brought up the strange notion that Maxwell would have been fine with anything as long as it involved Jacob's company. For all that Jacob knew it hadn't taken him long to accept the parting of their ways either. A thought which hurt more than he wanted it to when he allowed it to unfold its true depth.

It had been that spark of unmistakable joy which had drawn Jacob in. And the flattery, he wasn't going to start lying about that now. Maxwell had made it ridiculously easy for him to allow himself to get carried away in moments of thoughtlessness.

However to compare Maxwell Roth and Hiram Ashdown would have been ridiculous, they held nothing in common (least of all their character) other than Jacob's interest. Confused attraction was another fitting descriptor, only that this time Jacob couldn't just let it slide. Not when his brain wouldn't shut up about it and didn't allow him to concentrate on the work Evie would otherwise keep on nagging about.

It was an early morning. He'd thought nobody had noticed either him or Valérie, but there was Hiram waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. At night the emptiness of the house was much more to his liking and he sometimes spent several long moments wandering his corridors and exploring the rooms. Sometimes out of curiosity, other times out of boredom. But now it wasn't night, the morning sky was already greying and there he was now, casually leaning against the bottom of the railing. Hiram.

Where Jacob expected judgement or a frown, Hiram looked merely curious and maybe a little disappointed. Unfortunately neither stopped the flutter of his heart. Making Jacob want to curse, but he bit down on his tongue till he tasted blood.

“It's almost a shame my sister likes you as much as she does.” Now it was Jacob's turn to frown and he couldn't quite remember what had happened between being in the middle of the staircase and that moment where he could feel Hiram's breath on his face. The touch of his lips was short and soft, halting his breath but making his heart double over on the spot. Not at all like he had imagined it, but maybe everything about this man was supposed to feel good. “Really, a shame, but I'm not going to ruin this for her.” He said it so quietly, Jacob could only nod not quite able to process the words as they were spoken.

He went home that morning, walked all the way back to the train and went to sleep, but couldn't remember a thing about that the next day. Only the faint tingle of a long gone touch lingering on his lips spurred his memory. Thinking back it felt more like a dream than reality, even though Jacob liked to think that he knew quite well how to distinguish those two. The only thing he was entirely sure of then was that he shouldn't have kissed Hiram, which he guessed answered the other question and it had to have been real.

For the first time in months, Jacob thought about talking to Evie about what was happening without immediately dismissing it because he didn't look forward to her reprimands. And what that was about wasn't so much about sharing, but because Evie always knew what to say or do. There wasn't a topic his sister didn't know anything about, but when she looked at him with those questioning blue eyes Jacob was lost for words.

Their father had raised them in the greyish twilight of the Assassin world-views and the those of the time they lived in. It had been a troublesome attempt to teach them about everything and more about the superficially prudish society they had grown up in when the Assassins had so vastly different opinions on everything. Even within the Brotherhood, there was a discrepancy between those raised within it and those adopted by it, and it had left them with a skewed social compass for a long while. They were neither fish nor fowl in the end, although they likely behaved more like Assassins than prim and proper Victorians.

So the realisation that he held an interest in men wasn't as awfully world-shattering as Jacob would have thought, and maybe he had to thank their father for that after all, or maybe he didn't. Perhaps it was simply because he had carried that possibility with himself ever since Maxwell's death even though it had been unaddressed. It wasn't a new thought, that much Jacob needed to acknowledge, albeit an uncommon one that he wasn't sure what to make of at first. Evie surely would have known, however. Jacob could feel the urge to ask her prodding at the back of his mind.

But as he sat there on the couch he had claimed so ungraciously for himself, because Evie had selfishly taken the bed, and he watched her, walk up and down the carpeted floor of the train, he couldn't find the words to tell her. She talked and talked and there might have been a time where she would have recognised his distracted behaviour for what it was and not frowned at him in question when she realised he hadn't been listening. Evie didn't need any words to make her dissatisfaction about that known, she had stopped that some time ago, but they weren't quite at the point where asking what was wrong got them anywhere just yet.

“Can you focus? Can you try to, Jacob?” She had asked instead, folding her arms and Jacob had sighed so deeply he felt it was answer enough.

“Sure, I'll try,” he had said when it hadn't been. He could tell by the way her eyes kept boring holes into him. His own eyes wandered up and down her figure as if trying to memorise what she looked like because on some days it felt India was just around the corner. And those were also often the days he found it hard to focus when it woke an anxiety so deeply rooted that it shook him to his core.

Now that was something she had recognised and the poignancy of her glare had softened into something more understanding. “ _You'll do just fine_.” Jacob always wished she would have told him just that, but instead of doing so she merely came to sit next to him and hold his hand in hers as she talked. Nudging their legs together to meet at the knee and below. She would continue talking, while Jacob focused on the touch of her fingers to keep his mind from wandering. However, she had figured out that it helped he couldn't say because it was a bit of a far stretch to get here from brushing and braiding her hair. Jacob accepted it all the same.

The fact that Hiram was too good a human being to start anything with his sister's lover made things equally easy and hard for Jacob. It was also the reason why Jacob had taken to calling him Lancelot because his only flaw seemed to be a love he had no control over. That and being criminally handsome.

For however long he wasn't present Jacob found it easy to distract himself, and Hiram wasn't around much, tending to his studies or the business he helped with or the horses they owned. He was good with them, that much Jacob could judge from the few times he had watched him combing them down after a particularly exhausting run through the city. From the way they had huffed, they had seemed utterly comfortable in his care. Another time he had seen him doing dressage in the square between the houses, so immersed in his doing that he hadn't noticed how Jacob had stopped and stared. The methodical clicking of hooves on stone had caught his attention. Then he had caught Valérie's attention and she had delivered a monologue about her brother's hobbies that had Jacob nodding along with the occasional dull-witted hum.

Some days Hiram posed an unwelcome intrusion in Jacob's little world that he couldn't seem to fight, no matter how hard he tried to focus. It was then that the questions came along and urge to talk to Evie because the little voice in his head said that she would have set it all straight within three sentences.

Sympathy and Valérie's ability to quiet his thoughts and some leftover defiance had him coming back each time, even though Jacob was aware that it couldn't end well. He supposed he did like tragedies, and to some degree did feel like he deserved one too. The thought only had him wondering how Max had understood that long before it had occurred to Jacob himself. Max had understood a great many things about him, but most above all he had been content with him. For all that others had criticised about him, Maxwell had loved him, quiet and simple. Val was much the same, holding quiet contentment for him that she let seep through her words and actions.

But contentment and adoration didn't mix.

 

_London, June 1869_

It was early summer when she told him about the letter from her father. “He's promised me to some supercilious, obnoxious oaf,” she spat the words out as if they were something disgusting she had just eaten. This time around it had been her brooding in need of distraction and Jacob had been happy to deliver, so there she stood now half dressed, mid pacing to regard him for a moment before she continued her stomping. “Arrogant prick, but oh it will strengthen the status and wealth of our family, I'd rather bite my own foot off.” This time she almost seemed to want to spit for real. Again, she paused and came to sit on the edge of the bed. Something was on her mind, Jacob couldn't help but notice the gears turning behind closed doors in her head.

“Well he's a horned, unlucky bastard then,” Jacob replied quite cheerfully in an attempt to lift her mood.

“He's not unlucky till he's met me,” Val replied drily. She sucked in her lip, mimicking thoughtfulness when all Jacob could see on her face was certainty, just not enough to speak it seemed. “I'd rather marry our stable boy before I'd lay a finger on the man he's promised me to, trust me, he's just a vile creature.” There was a long moment of silence that followed in which she allowed herself to be gathered back into his arms and under the warmth of the covers. Sighing she draped herself alongside him quite dramatically, and for a brief moment, Jacob caught himself thinking such a silly thing, like that Maxwell would have liked her too and that if they had met under different circumstances this would have played out so vastly different.

“I have to apologise I think,” Valérie spoke quietly, frowning as she did, as if uncertain of her words. “I had intended to take care of it, but if my father has already decided that this marriage will happen, so there is nothing much I can do...” Her fingers curled through his hair, luring a quiet hum from his throat. “Horned fiancés and born children can be swept under the rug,” she heaved herself onto one of her arms and kissed the side of his face. From the corner of his eye, Jacob studied her, uncertain what to think of the direction this conversation was taking. He could tell already. Oh, he could tell. “But he'd lose his face if he were to marry a woman visibly pregnant with a child that isn't his, so that's settled for me.”

 _Not for me_ , Jacob wanted to say, but nothing came past his lips. He didn't know how anymore, his capability to speak had been lost in the myriad of thoughts that washed over him and none of them clear.

When Evie later remarked how seemed to have his head in the clouds Jacob merely nodded, unable to explain the loss of focus to her and confused when she patted his arm instead of complaining.

It wasn't that he couldn't wrap his head around it, oh he could do that quite easily, it was more that he just didn't know what to do with that information under the realisation that he couldn't talk about it. Not without risking Evie to be mad at him again, when they were just managing to not yell at each other every other argument and there were still plenty of those. Albeit half of them induced by Evie's sudden realisation that her days in London were numbered and everything had to be perfectly organised before she left, simple as that. But even if he were wrong and she wouldn't yell at him, Jacob really had no idea where to begin.

And then there was, of course, the matter of Jack, one that Jacob felt more preoccupied with than any other. Jack had proven quite sufficiently that he didn't do well in the company of other children. He would argue with them and start fights no matter if they were older or younger and when blinded by rage he knew no stopping.

It was a curious thought to see him and wonder how he would fair with a child much younger. It was curious in the way that no matter how long Jacob stared at him he couldn't imagine it without forcing the thought into existence, subsequently turning his gut with the slow uncomfortable churn of a mill. He couldn't see it. That was the first thing he had thought and the final realisation.

Jacob thought and he thought extensively, about how to solve the situation Valérie had decided to put him in. Whatever made her so sure he'd play along he couldn't tell, maybe there had been some remark he had made or maybe it was a mere shot in the dark for her. Of course, he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't become their own father. It wasn't even a question.

“I'll keep it if they let me,” Valérie had said, but something about the way she had placed her words told him that wouldn't be the case. He didn't know just yet how right he would be. Only that he couldn't keep a child with Jack around, that much was clear as day.

“Val told me about her little plan.” It was the first time they had spoken in a while. Jacob had been trying to avoid Hiram, for one reason or another and hardly the sensible ones. And now Jacob couldn't help but grimace, looking helplessly at the man that wanted so much. It was as simple as that. No matter how irresponsible that made him.

Hiram was leaning back against a couch, smoking, watching it rise towards the ceiling with a thoughtless gaze. “I'm surprised you didn't try to talk her out of it.”

“It's her choice,” Jacob muttered under his breath. Not expecting Hiram to understand.

“Your responsibility,” he pointed out. Unfortunately, that was true. There was a relief in being able, to be honest with someone at last. “So what are you going to do?” He had leaned his head back as Jacob had slowly made his way over to the couch and propped his arms onto the backrest.

The smoke tasted of bad memories that he couldn't talk about to Hiram, so Jacob closed his eyes to chase them away. “What do you take me for?” Jacob asked, rhetorically. He didn't expect an answer and he didn't exactly want one either.

“I take you for a good man,” Hiram mused despite all that. Wearing the prettiest damn smile, but it only soured Jacob's mood.

 _Not as good as you_ , he thought and caught his own open mouth, as if his brain had decided to say something but had been unable to follow through with the attempt. He wasn't a good man. Good men didn't get themselves into situations like these. Good men didn't lie to their sisters as he did. Good men didn't want to kiss the brother of their future child's mother. That much Jacob knew about the world even without the little voice in his head, which sounded way too much like Evie these days anyway, reminding him.

“Let me be honest with you Jacob, I have more trust in you than my sister.” Hiram smiled, almost sadly.

“And why is that?” Jacob asked, meeting his glance when Hiram looked up. “Aren't I the root of the troubles of the situation?” He smirked into the cloud of smoke Hiram released.

“Oh, if it weren't for you, Val would have found someone else, or maybe she would have just run away,” Hiram replied, his mouth twisting displeased with the notion of either of his scenarios. “But let me be clear,” his eyes focused in a piercing stare on Jacob's now that made him shiver, “I'm not saying she couldn't have done better, she's smarter than she lets on–”

“I've noticed that,” Jacob responded, smiling to himself. “I like clever women.”

“ _Do you now?_ ” The reflection of his smile on Hiram's face asked playfully. It faded into a thoughtful expression. “You're not so bad as you think you are, that's all.” He paused, watching Jacob's expression of confusion and denial with interest. “Just let me know where I can see the little tyke every now and then, deal?”

“Deal.” Jacob couldn't help the smile that flickered across his face. All the worries he couldn't help when watching Jack and wondering what Evie would and wouldn't say washed away for a brief moment. “Do you like children?” The question came almost unwarranted, he had never considered asking Evie the same. For one, not to give himself away, but mostly because he thought he knew. There was no doubt in his mind that she would like any child that was his.

“I think I'm going to like this one”, Hiram replied chipper.

This time the smile stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on 21st of October.
> 
> Preview: "“You're a sight for sore eyes...” Jacob sighed, he had neither thought he would see George anytime soon again nor  
> that it would make him actually happy when he considered how much he had dreaded his last visit."


	5. Whenever One Door Closes Another One Opens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself to say goodbye to Evie for not as long as you might think. Also, remember that Jacob kind of had a plan when he started reading Evie's books? Anybody? Yeah, you're gonna find out what that was all about now.
> 
> Also anybody remember the mysterious box that Jacob didn't wanna open?

_London, August 1869_

His first plan had been to show her the extent of what it meant to live with Jack, but for that Jacob would have needed to trust her to understand and he didn't. There was an off-chance she wouldn't see the danger this little boy harboured to anyone that wasn't Jacob himself and he wasn't going to risk it.

Evie would have understood. No matter if she had liked it or not, but she would have been able to see reason in his decision to keep his own child separated from Jack. Only that he hadn't told her, because above all, all Evie would see in this was another chance to patronise him for all that Jacob knew. _You wouldn't bring a child into the world under circumstances like these._ Surely she would have told him something of that sort if he had bothered to tell her.

Bitter, Jacob had kept his mouth shut and thought about his remaining possibilities. All the while the answer had been staring him right in the face. The only problem was that he didn't like it even one bit. There was only one speck on London's map that he knew to be safe from all and everything because it couldn't be found unless you knew what you were looking for.

“Here?” Frowning Val had stepped in circles through the hallway, peeking into the rooms with new-found curiosity. “Are you sure?” Jacob nodded, he couldn't say it because he wasn't, but he needed Valérie to believe it. “Works for me,” she agreed. Again, Jacob nodded, unable to unglue his jaws. He barely managed a reassuring smile.

There was only one place in London that he knew secure enough to hide anyone and anything without actually hiding them. Only one place that would make him feel at ease about the situation he'd forced himself into by adopting Jack. Only one place nobody would ever think to search for his child.

Maxwell's flat would do just nicely.

Max's apartment was easily spacious enough to accommodate a child, it had belonged to a single man but it could easily accommodate four people without becoming crowded. So all it took was a little repurposing of one of the rooms into a nursery. It would be enough for a start, babies weren't known to get anywhere when you didn't carry them before they could crawl.

The action made him feel strange. It was easy enough to figure out what was needed under the guise that he was helping Clara and the Assassins would have to supply Babylon Alley with whatever its youngest needed in the future, but the questions still felt awkward. Fortunately, Florence Nightingale proved to be happy to help as soon as Clara's name had been mentioned, immediately recalling a conversation she had had with her about it. As much as it broke her heart Clara had mentioned that taking care of babies was nearly impossible, even though there were enough who needed it. To show his goodwill or something like that Jacob had argued, to keep her from asking further questions, he couldn't remember all that well, feeling Val should be with him or Evie at the very least. But he had been alone and miserable.

Their father had furnished two rooms just for them, so when he had taken them in they had brought barely anything from their grandmother's house with them except for their clothes and a few toys. A favourite blanket they hadn't been able to part with… Things like that.

They had been explicitly forbidden to do so, but they had swapped clothes in a hurry, just before their father had arrived anyway. There had been too little time for their grandmother to chide them for it. Any other time they would have made an effort to hide Evie's freckles, which had always been a lot easier than drawing some on his face, he remembered that. At that time it had been no more than a game, and since they had (sadly) so quickly outgrown their similarities it had remained just that, a game to play to entertain themselves, to see who could fool the people around them longer.

Now, this was a game too of sort, a game of fooling Jack who had recently bitten off partial of an ear. Knowledge Jacob would have liked to live without but Jack had still held the piece between his teeth like a trophy when he came back, his mouth a bloody mess from it. At least it hadn't been a child, he had thought as he had compared it to the size of Jack's own ear and couldn't tell why it was so much better that an adult had suffered his attack. If anything that was a new worse on a completely new scale. One to only reaffirm his decision, as if life had decided he needed an unnecessary reminder.

If Maxwell's flat was an alternate reality by itself, the nursery was a whole new world within it, only the bookshelves reminded of what it had once been, a study or something close to it, Jacob wasn't so sure anymore what Max had used it for exactly. He had worked wherever he had found a chair and desk to write on. A large book would do just as well in case there wasn't a desk. He had been quite practical in that aspect.

Jacob could imagine a child living here just as little as he could imagine Jack holding a child, it was so out of question he didn't know what to make of the fact that he had equipped a nursery anyway. It was too happy. Too promising of the new life which would inhabit its space.

Asking Lewis had been more than awkward, but Jacob had been glad for the help. Now that all the clutter was gone, the room was more open and the arches which had been painted on the walls and ceiling were finally showing, giving the illusion of height. The old heavy, red curtains (much like a theatre’s) were gone, replaced with a bright, happy yellow. What remained of the furniture was a single dresser which would be used to store clothes and toys, it had been made out of heavy wood and neither of them had felt like moving it more than it needed to be moved. The desk was gone, replaced by a smaller one more fit for a small child, but they had kept the chair. There were another chest and some colourful rugs. Sure that the room would be cluttered with toys and clothes as soon as the child could crawl around anyway, Jacob had stuck to the necessities for a start. Certain that time would fill the gaps.

“I'll let you know if this feels awkward to you this makes two of us...” Jacob admitted, leaning in the doorway. “And I don't know if that's because I know next to nothing about childcare or if it's because it shouldn't be here.” It. Jacob figured he should start thinking of it by a name. But then again he didn't even know if it would be a girl or a boy. He figured he should come up with a nickname like he did for everyone else.

Like a cat, Lewis had been oddly fascinated with the mobile above the crib and was idly pushing its little ornaments around. A sun and moon, a small carriage, a few animals and bells too, it amused Jacob. “I think he liked children, he never outright said it, and I doubt he could do more than babysit them for a couple hours before growing tired of them, but I think he liked them,” Lewis replied without looking up from the mobile.

“What makes you say that?” Jacob sighed.

“Children...” he paused, “have a very innocent destructive tendency where they don't grasp the concept of damage on a bigger scale, or its consequences… which is–”

“ _– something Maxwell enjoyed_ ,” Jacob couldn't help but laugh about it as he finished his sentence. The fuzzy feeling which accompanied it was a like a memory, warm and soft, much kinder than what Maxwell had left him with and so strange for the situation Jacob found himself in. It was grating against his hardened feelings, and yet… for this very room it occurred to him it was the exact thing he should be feeling. If not anywhere else, happy thoughts and feelings belonged here.

“You think it will be a girl,” it wasn't so much a question, but a statement from Lewis as he had gone to examine the toys Jacob had bought. Quietly, he waved a stuffed doll to gain Jacob's attention.

“Mh-mh,” Jacob disagreed by shaking his head. “I don't know, I don't really care.” Again the doll was waved at him. “Kids that little don't care what they play with as long as it looks like a toy, what's a baby going to care what their stuffed toy looks like as long as they like it – they only care if we make them.”

“Is that so?” Lewis raised brow asked and Jacob's shrug said, “sure.” He hadn't considered his sister's dolls to be off limits for playing at four if anything they had argued who got to play with which one first

With a half smile, he caught Lewis' gaze – it was always a gaze, and almost always blank if not thoughtful – only for his mouth to twist in an attempt to keep the chipper smile. It was like somebody had drawn wires through the framework of his face, making it hard to move without feeling the grind of the metal against his flesh. There was an unspoken question between them, one which Jacob had wanted to ask ever since he had first seen him again, even before he had been aware of the question himself.

But recently it had begun to make itself noticed, prodding underneath his words like an undertone and the fact that he couldn't bring himself to ask it made him feel stupidly cowardly. Pressing his lips together he let his eyes wander, wondering if Lewis' had an inkling about his thoughts. Reading people was supposed to be easy for him, but this man remained a mystery.

His question would remain unasked for another long while.

_London, April 1870_

She had bid her goodbyes to George and the council in a detailed letter that Jacob only knew in parts that she had explained while writing it. There was a copy waiting for him at her desk on the train. It was hard to think of these things like she wouldn't come back any moment and Jacob knew that it would take a while for her absence to sink in. But he wouldn't let her know.

Not at her time of departure. Not when she had spent the past months fretting over everything, making sure he knew about everything there was to know and it had been hard enough to shut her up and reassure her that things were already taken care of. Everything was going to be fine, but Henry had been forced back into the unfortunate situation he had been in two years ago when they had first arrived in London, where had been forced to break up their arguments which had briefly resurfaced with no warning.

Maybe it was fear, maybe frustration, or maybe the finality of their situation. Each knowing they needed the distance, but so awfully unused to not being within an arm's length of reach.

They should have known better. She should have known not to overreact. He should have known not to give in to old habits. – It had been so terribly easy, there had almost been a comfort in their arguments, which had magically resolved themselves within the past couple of days.

And there she was now, standing in front of him, her hands so familiar and warm within his own. Clinging to each other like a pair of children afraid to be separated, even if the separation had been self-chosen. A subtle smile on her lips and the dread in his gut, knowing that nothing could have ever prepared him for letting her go. Despite all their fights, Jacob knew it was something he wasn't capable of. It was a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.

But like this, it was okay, or at least something akin to it.

“Watch out India, Evie Frye is coming!”

She laughed. Carefree and like they wouldn't see each other for a seemingly endless time. “Watch out London, Jacob Frye is in charge!” Evie grinned and so did he, it was oddly contagious. “You're going to do well… I'm almost sure of it...” Her almost being no more than an empty phrase because of course, she had to keep the pretence up. Yet her eyes and actions spoke of her trust in his capability.

Evie squeezed his hands, closing her eyes when Jacob kissed her forehead, already anticipating the kiss and lowering her head, and leaned his own against it. “I'll miss you...” His voice wanted to give in and Jacob didn't know how he managed to keep it stable. “I'm so glad to have you back.” Those two years. At least two more years they had been granted

“I wish we had a way to continue this… it's been fun having you back, despite my...” She trailed off. “You know...”

A chuckle answered her awkward apology. “I know…” And then. “Write me.”

Now it was her turn to laugh quietly. “You too, I'm going to feel better knowing with certainty I made the right decision leaving you in charge.”

Something sharp twisted itself into Jacob's gut, but there was no time to concentrate on that and maybe it would go away if he pretended it was because he didn't want her to go, not because of the old wound she had just touched unknowingly. “Evie!” His tone was playfully accusing and Jacob straightened himself to add the proper reproachful glare, but that only made her smirk.

He had made the right decision. He had to believe that. There was no room for questions even if he had been given the time to think about them.

“I'll miss you too.” Her voice was quiet. Almost too quiet. “Shall we?” Evie said, pulling him into a hug that forced his head into the crook of her shoulder and allowing him to hold on tight.

It was the last hug both of them would share for a long while and Jacob couldn't help the smile when he could feel her sinking into it just the same, holding on just as hard. “Let's...” Jacob muttered while the ship's departure within the next moments was announced and that all leftover passengers should come aboard. But to him, it was just a distant noise that didn't quite make sense.

There went his (older) sister. There went his twin. There went his best friend. There she went to a place endlessly far away to possibly never return and it was like everything was slowing down from the moment she left his embrace. His surroundings lost focus.

And there she went to Henry, whom Jacob had completely blanked out of reality for the time being. But now he showed them a lopsided grin, not sure if they saw him. Not wanting her to see the tear he felt inside, wanting to run after her and catch up. Go with them or stop them, but Jacob knew that he couldn't.

There had been a time when being left in charge of London and Evie moving to India would have made him feel relief like he had been finally given room to breathe and a space to exist. Like after their father's death. Just right now, it made him feel terribly small with the growing distance between them that made everything feel so much bigger than it was. The previously comforting presence of people all around him now left the bitter aftertaste of loneliness.

Jacob closed his eyes, allowing his environment to melt into one single convoluted mix of sounds, dulled by his inability to focus, and took a deep breath.

They had never been apart. Not like this, but he had been lonely before. So maybe there was a way to deal with it, Jacob told himself. He had been lonely while she had been around plenty of times. So Evie being gone was something he could definitely deal with.

He had the train in mind when he had set out to leave the harbour. Their own train, with Jack on it or at least he hoped to find him there. Initially, he wanted to bring him along, but Jack had made it clear that he would have fought him every single step of the way so Jacob had decided to leave him be. Evie had insisted to spend the walk with him and Henry, savouring their last moments together. And as he wandered through the docks it was like their ghosts followed him and their quiet chatter filled his ears.

Jacob swore to himself that he had had the train in mind when he arrived at the apartment. It had to have been the train, he hadn't planned on coming here.

Not at all. Never again. (A by now empty phrase because he'd come back here plenty times, just never alone because alone was unbearable.) His fingers reached for the lockpick in lack of a key because he couldn't remember where he'd left it before he could stop himself.

The landlady had recognised him one of the many times he'd come here, and given him the spare, while Jacob had made an ambiguous statement about Maxwell's death. He'd never come back again. He'd said something along the lines of it, his undertone making sure she understood that as well as that he would like to keep the place. It was his only safe haven in the middle of even the most organised London. The only reminder, the only proof that parts and pieces had been wonderful about their relationship.

With a click of the lock the door opened and with it something Jacob had thought buried. He swallowed, taking in the quiet as he stepped inside, thinking of how much of a mistake it had been to hide Valérie here (and soon their child), that Evie's anger would have been preferable to… this. Quietly, Jacob closed the door, feeling his breath shake, an audible manifestation of the quiver that went through his chest and core. It could have been a sob but it was over before it began so he'd never know.

He was tempted to speak for the sake of saying something, anything, just to fight the quiet. Maxwell wouldn't come around the corner, his face lighting up the moment he saw him – Jacob had loved that – but he couldn't shake off the feeling of his lingering presence either.

The words came with a heavy sigh. “Welcome home.” It was hard to tell by the way it ached, like old floorboards under heavy weight, but it seemed to be his own voice. Whether or not he meant to speak to a ghost or to reassure himself Jacob couldn't say, but it did make him feel a little less lost standing in this hallway.

It was a truly silly thing to say, he thought. Maxwell had never greeted him, not like this anyway, he'd just started talking the moment he'd seen him. (Always happy to see him. So incredibly happy about his existence.) Then again his face had done all the talking necessary whether or not he'd been aware of it. But there was a certain familiarity when he hung up cap and coat near the door and trudged down the hallway to peek into every room. Lingering a moment at the door to the nursery, quite unable to grasp that it existed and that it was meant for his child.

They were all empty. Of course, he knew that, but that didn't stop the disappointment he felt when he found them like this.

All that was left was a chequered coat that smelled more like dust than anything by now when Jacob pressed his face into it, telling himself it was the dust he choked on not the tears. Maxwell didn't deserve tears, did he? Not after all he had done in the end. Then why did he feel like crying, near curled up in this chair that brought back memories of the sound of a pen scratching on paper and Maxwell muttering to himself over his work.

Bored – it was a strange word to use because he'd never felt bored around him, but bored Jacob had often dozed off, lounging in a chair or on his sofa like a big, lazy cat. The Alhambra's props had proven to be surprisingly comfortable as well, just like everything else that Maxwell owned.

Coiled up in his throat was frustration as much as anger and pain that he didn't know how to voice other than in an enraged scream that he didn't know to explain other than with a cry of pain that came out in the form of a strangled sound that resembled a sob. Unwanted as it had been Jacob ground his teeth, thinking he should get up and leave. This place was just as bad for him as its owner had been.

What would Evie say? He was certain he knew, he could almost hear her voice. Feeling small and stupid in light of how everything had turned out.

But his feet were stuck to the ground as if filled with lead, unwilling and likewise unable to move.

Jacob allowed the thought to trail off into nothingness. It wasn't his sister that he wanted to think of now. If anything his sister was the last person he wanted to or should think of now. Especially in a place like this where it all felt so wrong. Thinking he should have known that Maxwell wouldn't let him go so easily.

Swallowing Jacob disregarded the voice that sounded so much like Maxwell, echoing in the back of his mind, but he couldn't help the blur of his vision into blue. He disregarded the ghostly touch of a hand that was more a breeze through his hair but hated his memory for playing tricks on him and he hated himself for the way he felt and Evie for being unapproachable. Forcing it all down had helped nothing, and neither did jumping to his feet and kicking over the nearest furniture, but it did make him feel marginally better before the feeling of defeat overcame him once more.

Not like this, Jacob thought to himself. Thinking that Maxwell should be here to face his anger, to see what he had done to him, so it wouldn't feel like he was scratching his insides raw for nothing.

Absent-mindedly Jacob allowed his vision to settle in shades of blue again, muting the world around him. Don't, he caught himself thinking as he turned to follow the not so faint voice. Don't because Maxwell wouldn't be there.

“ _Sit down, you look tired._ ” Jacob blinked, stepping back when the ghostly figure that looked like Maxwell approached him. “ _What? You think I didn't notice the ruckus you've been causing on my doorstep?_ ” Maxwell replied amused. Pinching his nose, but Jacob only felt the cool feathery touch of air.

Breathlessly Jacob stared him up and down, afraid to move but stumbling backwards into a chair. Maxwell sat down beside him, while Jacob gaped and Maxwell kept talking. He remembered.

He remembered taking on Victor Lynch. Gang leader of the Strand. A gamble with high stakes which had miraculously had only cost him a bloody nose instead of several broken bones. Jacob closed his eyes, anticipating the kiss that would come. Keeping his eyes shut because opening them now would only make him want to grab Maxwell…. And ~~kiss~~ shake him.

His breath had come to a shaky halt by the time Jacob dared to open his eyes again. Never before had Jacob seen anyone wearing white like this, he had hardly ever seen anyone in white in the first place. Clara sometimes wore it when she had information for them, just like Henry, but that were the only examples he could think of, of the top of his head. And they didn't compare to… _this_.

White like a ghost, but not a ghost, he knew that much. But also not Maxwell, even though the figure looked like Maxwell and gave its best impression of him. Dumbfound and wide-eyed Jacob stared, not daring to blink or move or breath, fearing it would break the spell. “ _Well done, Jacob._ ” The ghostly image of Max said, still a little amused and despite it, all Jacob still felt an unspeakable emotion take hold of him at the flicker of pride he remembered hearing in his words. The walls of his chest were almost bursting with it, making it hard to think or breath or speak. Or notice the faint smile on his lips.

It disappeared by fading out, leaving Jacob in a momentary state of panic because he didn't want it to. Whatever it was. A ghost. A memory. A trick of his own mind. All three in one. It didn't matter. He wanted it to stay just a little longer.

But it was gone, and Jacob realised he hadn't been breathing for the duration of it. He swallowed, hard, but it didn't help with the lump which had settled in his throat. It was as if his heart had stopped too for those few moments and was now trying to remind him of how powerful it was.

Meaning to distract himself Jacob got up, wandering around aimless till he let himself fall onto the bed. (Not the best choice he decided, but the most inviting one with how drained the day was making him feel.) There wasn't anything he wanted to do here, he hadn't even wanted to come here in the first place and by now Jack would be understandably upset about his absence. It made him feel just a little bit guilty, but not enough to bolt upright and back to the train within the same instant. He didn't like how Valérie's smell lingered, like a cloud sitting beside him, which made it all the harder to ignore.

Part of him wanted to open all windows, air the place out so she would disappear just like Maxwell. Maybe then it would be easier to bear. Only that it required both motivation and the will to part with either. With Maxwell, he wouldn't and with Valérie he couldn't. It was as simple as that. The haze of memories had something comforting about it. Just like the darkness behind closed eyes, with his face buried in the sheets. It made ignoring his surroundings a lot easier, but also made him feel like he was choking on her scent.

Hazy Jacob moved his head to breath, staring into the flickering shape of another ghostly memory. This time he closed his eyes when the hand reached out to touch him, not wanting to bear the pain of remembering. “Evie's gone.” The ghost responded, sticking to its scripted memory segment that made no sense right here and now, but Jacob caught himself attempting a half-smile, knowing well what Maxwell might have told him in response. Even if only a little, but he had cared. Sometimes even a lot. Most of the time it had been dependant on the subject, but his care for Jacob had been a golden thread through all his actions. His thoughts and opinions, his questions, of these things Jacob was sure. His feelings were a different matter, and one that he wasn't sure how to address if at all.

Crying seemed like the most reasonable thing to do, but Jacob couldn't tell if it was because he had spent the last two years shoving every emotion however minor regarding this thing down the abyss of his consciousness or if it was simply that he had no tears at all that he could spare that he didn't.

It was only now that Jacob realised that with Evie gone he truly had free reign over London, but even that, he guessed, wouldn't make him stop feeling like he was stealing away when it came to this place.

He thought he heard footsteps, but it was hard to say whether or not those were from above or below or part of a memory. Not that it mattered anyway, the memory of Maxwell's presence lingered whether he liked it or not. Like always. Like when Maxwell had been alive, always present, always nearby when he woke up and had been left to wonder if he had dreamt the gentle touches and murmured words luring him back to sleep those short waking moments in between.

“You're not real,” he told the ghost that might or might have not been there. It was stupid and meaningless, but at the same time, it made him feel better. At least a little. To hear his own voice reminded him that he was real himself. “Stop that, Max.”

If only.

The dead weren't so kind to listen to the wishes of the living, the shadow their father had cast over his relationship with Evie had assured him of that. Now it was Maxwell's ghost making sure he wouldn't be forgotten, but the queasy feeling it left him with made Jacob rather uncertain whether or not he liked it.

Jacob couldn't remember the conscious decision to get up and open the windows, but the fresh air and walking helped the thinking.

If what he had seen was linked to his eagle vision there was a possibility he would be able to trigger it, he thought as he leaned onto the window sill to watch the city below. Despite his sister's and Dickens’ belief ghosts weren't part of this realm, and the truth was often much simpler, much more boring than the stories one could come up with. Boring and reasonable.

When the cold had finally drenched him and he felt like shivering Jacob closed the windows again. Certain that he wanted to leave, but uncertain as to where. Which landed him strolling through the apartment restlessly once more, listening to where wood gave away the sound of his footsteps which were otherwise swallowed by the carpet. Because of course, Maxwell had to have carpet.

There wasn't anything here he wasn't familiar with, or so Jacob liked to think, although he wouldn't be surprised to find chests and drawers with hidden floors. It would befit Maxwell's standing as of London's most feared man and the secrecy which had allowed him to keep the title.

The calm with which he went through his belongings felt alien, but he would have to lie to say he'd never done it before. And the voice in his head kept nagging that he should be upset, that he should be crying, that he should be angry, disappointed, anything but numb. But even that wasn't quite right, it was the heavy weariness of not allowing himself to deal with these emotions whenever life had made them bubble up within these past two years. Feeling numb now that he was exposed to it was the result of that.

Several hours must have passed – Jacob had found notebooks filled with stories and debts and names, he'd found plays and loose papers with nonsensical scribbles on them, books that Maxwell had been reading, a journal – so much of the life he had taken it had started to hurt, and he was feeling something at last – because it was actually growing dark outside when he left the flat, forcing himself to focus on Jack who would still be waiting for him. Berating himself for leaving him alone that long Jacob stepped into the darkening streets with curses under his breath. Rain was in the air, he could taste it, but he couldn't focus on it, the worry seemed too small, too insignificant compared to everything else.

In the darkness, in the near empty streets, it almost didn't feel like he'd left that otherworldly realm where ghosts existed, and just this once Jacob was glad for the world allowing a slow transition and for him to re-adjust to reality at a much slower pace than usual. Usually, he liked to step back onto crowded streets, listening to the hum of a city so much more alive now than when he had arrived and even then London had been buzzing compared to Crawley.

Lewis made sure that he saw and recognised him before he spoke, but that didn't stop Jacob from freezing where he stood. They rarely saw each other these days, apart from the occasional task that Jacob decided he required his help for.

“Mister Frye.” Had he followed him, or had it been a coincidence? Lewis made it hard to read these things from his face.

It was like time stopped, and for a moment Jacob wasn't certain that it wasn't that particular April anymore and that he hadn't killed Maxwell, because Lewis looked like time had not touched him. There were times when he wasn't sure Maxwell had been real after all, but Lewis' appearance left no doubt about it in his mind.

“ _A bit of an odd fish, isn't he? – And always so polite._ ” It echoed in his ears, making Jacob smile inadvertently. “You could come work for me...” Jacob found himself suggesting not even sure where that came from, resting both hands in his pockets. It wasn't the first time, but up until now, Lewis had always chosen to ignore it. It was so much easier to ask than the other question burrowing itself quite painfully through his insides at any given occasion that he saw Lewis.

But no greeting, no anything, he didn't even know what he wanted to say. There was too much to say and his lips were on the verge of an apology before his thoughts quickly redirected. “Think about it, you can leave me a note here.” He nodded towards the house. Lewis would know where exactly. Realising that he might as well accept the fact that he wasn't going to part with this place anytime soon. No matter if he liked it or not.

Silence answered him for so long Jacob was considering to just leave and leave Lewis to his thoughts. “I will give it some thought, Mister Frye.” He replied against all of Jacob's expectations.

There was the barest emotional reaction on Lewis' face, but Jacob hadn't expected anything else. So he just nodded and when that seemed to settle everything between them for the day went on his way. There wasn't anything else for them to talk about at this moment. Another thought came but way too late when he had already made his way back to the train, but Jacob wasn't going to return now, not when faced with a sulking Jack. Sulking was a nicer word for cold and distant. The boy had a talent for making him feel inadequate, but as much as Jacob hated that he tried not to let it show. It wasn't Jack's fault and he wouldn't make him feel like it. Hating how much Jack's behaviour made him show his own impatience when he knew it was the last thing he should be showing. Then at last when he was allowed some moment of peace he opened Evie's letter. He'd meant to hours ago.

London was gaining stability as an assassin capital and they had been preparing to reduce their numbers to a less suspicious level. Just enough to cover the boroughs, while the Templars had been slowly but surely learning that no matter how bitter they were over their loss, London wouldn't soon return into their hands. Not even the Blighters could help them now, as the tables had drastically turned ever since the Rooks had begun to outnumber them, especially after Starrick's death.

Jacob sat down on her bed to read. Still _her_ bed. Always _her_ bed, he thought to himself. This would take time.

It was in fact as Evie had promised the same letter she had written to George and the council, but the extra pages which were addressed to him made him wonder for a moment. It was likely Evie had done the same for her other two letters. Trying to keep his mind focused on her first letter was nearly impossible, so Jacob gave up after a while, tossing it aside in frustration, promising himself to read it later when he had the mind for it.

_Dear Jacob,_

(Not Jay. Not Brother. Just his name.)

_By the time you will read this, I will be on my way to India. I'm sure you are enjoying your new-found freedom as London's sole master assassin, giving me and George plenty reason for grievances. I have tried to ease his worries, I'm sure he'll let you know if I didn't succeed. Either way, I can assure you, you have my trust and faith. I know you won't cause me to regret my decision, you've proven that well enough for me on multiple occasions in the past two years._

_Who would have thought, my overambitious little brother learnt to temper himself. One day you will have to tell me what caused you to change your mind, but now is not the time. Now is hardly the time for anything. I am glad I was able to spend these years with you as my brother, not my opponent in unhealthy rivalry. Which makes it all the sadder that we were so busy all the time and had no chance to properly talk to each other. Which is why I am leaving you this letter to convey at least a little of my thoughts. There is too much that we have still not discussed, with London demanding all our attention._

_I'm hoping the distance will make it easier for us talk it out. Everything. Not just London. I wish it could have been done face to face, but I suppose it wasn't meant to be. These letters might make it easier. I miss you already. I know you're not sleeping well and I would berate you for not telling me, but rest assured there's no time for that either. Maybe you'll find writing easier than talking in the future._

_As of now, I have no plans to return for more than a short visit, but a visit will happen. I promise. There will be so many things to write about, I can't wait to tell you about India and I hope you can't wait to hear about it. Even though reading letters isn't your favourite pastime, I hope you will at least look forward to mine._

_You asked me where father was wrong when we went to Crawley. The question comes back to me every now and then when I find myself surprised by how much you changed within such a short time. And then I realise we both should have known better. Working with instead of against each other. Do try to think before you act and I'll try not to overthink. Experience tells me this isn't going to go well for either of us, but when did that ever stop us? You could always convince me that we could do anything as long we put our mind to it._

_I would love to write more, but there is so much to do and I know if I don't finish this letter now I will never find the time. So forgive me if so many topics fall short, I promise we will get to them. I want to wake you and talk to you till we both fall asleep like we did as children. Brings back memories, doesn't it?_

_Love,_

_Evie_

Oh, it did, but it also left him feeling rather glum, feeling the weight of her absence sinking into the depths of his bones. Blinking Jacob forced the tears away which attempted to blur his vision, feeling much too small for a city as big as London. The confidence she had in him wasn't as reassuring as he would have liked, but Jacob fought the doubts back down again.

Sighing Jacob folded the letter and neatly put it back into its envelope, promising himself how he would return to its counterpart tomorrow or the day after that. Once he had had some sleep, even though the fire was still there, by now it had become an almost familiar companion. If it weren't for the oppressive heat and the smoke in his lungs, it would be almost bearable. Most nights anyway.

It was a week later that Jacob returned to the apartment, he knew he could have dispatched a rook or an assassin to deliver the payment and some of his belongings, but that would mean giving up his lair. Warrant an explanation that he did not have.

A note in familiar handwriting had been slid under the door. His first thought was to meet on the train, only for him to realise that it couldn't happen that way. If he employed Lewis it wasn't something he could do as an assassin. Pocketing the note Jacob retrieved the last items from the carriage. His mind was set on unpacking, but he knew that dealing with Lewis had priority and Evie would have certainly reminded him of that too. Finding Lewis wasn't a problem, he was much as part of Alhambra as Maxwell had been. Evie had been serious in her attempt to fund its reconstruction, much to Jacob's contentment. To think that it would remain a burnt husk for God knows how long didn't sit right with him, but he wouldn't have known how to convince Evie either. Which would have meant providing help behind her back, which in return would have only prompted too many questions and a mad sister.

“Do you actually like the theatre, is it out of habit or is it because of him, that you are so attached to this place,” Jacob asked without expecting an answer. He didn't wait for one either. “You won't be working for the Assassins, just for me, I need this to be clear.”

“Of course, Mister Frye,” Lewis said. There was no need to explain to him why it had to be like this. If anyone recognised him as Maxwell's former handymen it would put a serious dent in the good reputation that Jacob had worked on so hard. But even without that knowledge, they would question Lewis' necessity. “You can stay here if you like,” Jacob pointed at the Alhambra. “Keep the job, it'll be good cover, for when I've got nothing to do for you...” He paused. Thinking that there would be plenty to do. “You still have the spare key don't you...” It wasn't something which had just occurred to him now, but there was no reason for Lewis to get rid of any keys Max might have given him. Lewis nodded solemnly and quiet. It looked like he meant to say something but ultimately decided to keep his words to himself. “I will make sure to call on you, if I have further need of you, right now just pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

That as well was accepted with a quiet nod, leaving Jacob lost in his tracks, uncertain what to do for a moment before he motioned a quiet goodbye and marched back.

A house would have suited him more, a house would've allowed more space for his belongings making it seem less cramped, but then, of course, a house would have been quite obvious and why buy a house when you could live in a theatre. For better or for worse Maxwell had practically lived at the Alhambra.

With a sigh, Jacob stepped through the doorway. “Sorry, this was important… I really shouldn't make a habit out of this.” His words fell empty to the floor, he hadn't expected an answer – why ever anyway, Maxwell was dead – but it still didn't help the heaviness of the silence. It wasn't so much that he felt a necessity to talk to Max, rather than attempt to fight the gloom within these walls.

Jacob had brought a small number of chests and two boxes, placed in the hallway to retrieve later. Reluctantly he now picked up the package he had stored beneath the train's couch until recently. After a while, he had forgotten about it, but every now and then he had remembered its existence and then it wouldn't leave him be. There were already too many nights he had woken up, to weary to move, even though his thoughts had run themselves threadbare on these old wounds.

“Yeah, yeah, say what you want...” Jacob muttered to himself, his lips cracking into a thin smile. “It's not like I never wanted to wear it...” He placed the box on a nearby dresser, taking a deep breath before attempting to open it. Some nights his fingers had itched to open it, and most of these nights he'd felt the dread of his own actions and all of these nights he wouldn't have been able to explain himself.

It came with a neatly folded top hat that he placed next to the box. All of its parts had been wrapped into or were separated by white-ish, thin, crinkling paper, but Jacob's attention was fixed on the coat. It was made out of black and dyed red leather, heavy, robust fabric that was meant to withstand the battles he would fight wearing it. Smooth enough to make it easy to clean. It was almost too nice to wear and dirty with the blood of templars and blighters. Despite knowing that it would just smell of leather and new clothes Jacob lifted it to bury his nose in it. His lips parted into a thin, bitter smile, he had hated standing still to get his measurements taken. Picking out the fabric hadn't been much fun either; getting to pick whatever he wanted had just been awkward. But all of that had been made up for by the pleased smile Maxwell had given him as he had straightened Jacob's clothes. A privilege usually only granted to Evie, if anyone at all.

“What for?” Jacob had asked, but no Maxwell had had to insist on that stupid Suit. And then on this stupid outfit and somehow they had spent half a day at the tailor, which had cost him almost all of his nerves.

Jacob had placed all his trust in Maxwell's hands, simply believing the Suit would look good on him. And did it. It fit him awfully well. The fabric had been a compromise between nice and fancy and robust enough to scale a building if you had to. And he had. Both times that he had worn the Suit.

Now, this one was a lot more practical. Jacob managed to tear himself just enough off the coat to take a step back and then another, till he could feel the wall against his back. Slowly he slumped to the ground, once again burying his face in the fabric. It was practical, but Jacob had a feeling it had been made for strutting more than its intended use. A decent excuse to dress him in nice clothes. Jacob had drawn his legs close, knowing that he would have to get back up again, knowing that there was no time for this and somehow he actually managed to go through with it after all. Telling himself that he had no clue why his eyes were stinging, or his hands were shaking and why the craving for alcohol seemed to hollow him out. Luring his thoughts off track with the promise of sweet numbness.

It would be his reward, he promised himself. Not enough to get drunk, just enough to numb the ache in his chest and quiet his thoughts so that he would be able to sleep tonight. He couldn't allow it to become a habit. That was the thought that stayed with him as he was falling asleep that night. That and the odd feeling that he wouldn't stick to his own promise.

_London, May 1870_

As much as Jacob loved Bertha, the train was no sustainable hideout. It was something that Jacob had to learn the hard way (because Jack liked it and anything that kept Jack complacent was worth keeping in his life) attempting to write letters to the council and all of them just ending up at Henry's shop – that he had given to the assassins watching over Whitechapel for a hideout – because apparently delivery to the train was impossible. Even though it hardly ever went fast enough to be uncatchable. It was a hassle that Jacob knew was a self-made problem that he would have to take care of once the current matter had been dealt with.

The thought had come and gone over the past two years, but Jacob had never found enough time to give the idea more than a few moments of time (telling himself he would get back to it later), meanwhile reality was proving that it had needed in fact several weeks, too many arguments and a visit from George before it could be considered within reach of all things possible.

“You're a sight for sore eyes...” Jacob sighed, he had neither thought he would see George anytime soon again nor that it would make him actually happy when he considered how much he had dreaded his last visit. Jack at his side only scowled at George, fidgeting and unhappy as he was about having to accompany Jacob. He also hadn't like having been introduced to George, who had only raised his brows then nodded and returned the greeting.

“Am I? Your sister's been gone for only a little more than a month and you already call me a sight for sore eyes – are you sure you can handle this?”

There was honest concern in George's voice, but Jacob only laughed as he led him across the station towards the train which had made a requested stop, so it would be able to pick up Clara and George. “You don't know the half of it, the past two years where hell, I'm only now starting to rediscover free time...” Only now he allowed Jack to run off, to the back of the train to play cards and arm wrestle with the rooks who were present.

George seemed to attempt a smile but instead pulled a grimace. “Coming from you Jacob that only makes me worry more.”

“I didn't actually think I would get their approval,” Jacob admitted grinning. He called out to the conductor and Bertha slowly started rolling again now that they had boarded the train. “I'll talk to the lady of the hour, you enjoy your sightseeing tour,” he said, patting George on the back and disappearing into Evie's former quarters, but found himself pausing at the door. “Watch out for Jack.” Without any further explanation, he went to see Clara.

She had clearly outgrown her dress, Jacob couldn't help but notice as he saw Clara curiously eyeing the mementos of their journey, that Jacob couldn't bring himself to pack away. She had certainly outgrown being a child, and while possibly not the oldest of her bunch, still the only one in charge of Babylon Alley.

“Mister Frye!” She smiled, as she turned towards him. Her posture no less perfect than Evie's. A small detail about which Jacob couldn't help but smile.

“I told you it's Jacob.”

“Only if you stop calling me Missy,” she huffed. “I'm not a little girl anymore.”

“Never,” Jacob teased, a lopsided grin on his face. He turned the chair to face the bed and sat down at Evie's desk, pointing Clara towards the bed to do the same. It wasn't exactly the ideal environment for business deals, but Clara was familiar with the train so possibly more comfortable here than at the apartment Jacob had rented.

Jacob waited till she had sat down and straightened the skirt of her dress, before he said, “I have an offer to make, kind of a business offer, but not quite, more of… a position, something to help us both.” He paused. Clara's big, dark eyes lingered attentively on him. “I have to ask this, just so we get on the same page… do you know what Greenie did for a living?”

“Mister Green?” She replied, furrowing her brows. “He had a small curio shop here in Whitechapel…” There was a long pause and maybe she just wanted to see his reaction. “And he was an assassin.” She said it quite matter-of-factly, like a learnt fact you were irrevocably certain of.

“Do you know what that means?” Had he told her, Jacob wondered, or had she found out on her own? Regardless, it was a good start.

“You kill men like Mister Starrick, criminals, the Blighters – bad people.”

A spontaneous smile spread on Jacob's lips. “Yes, that's sort of the gist here...” He admitted, allowing a small sigh past his lips. “The truth is a little more complicated than that, but I'm not here to explain the ideology I was raised with, we can talk about that later if you wish… we're here because I would like to make you an honorary assassin of sort.” Jacob rubbed a hand over his mouth. “See, I've been thinking–“

“Please don't overdo it Mister Frye, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, you're a valuable ally to us.” She said it with the same dry wit that Evie would have used, widening the smile on his face although it remained hidden behind his hand.

“I've been thinking, just the same actually,” he leaned back. “You are a valuable ally, I'd go as far and say invaluable, and I would like this alliance to remain, as well as Babylon Alley… you're no child anymore, your options to find work are growing, and while money and shelter are one thing, you will need a lot of resources to keep the place going, which is what I can offer…” Jacob folded his hands. “Being a member of the Brotherhood would allow you access to all we have to offer to establish Babylon Alley as a safe haven for children, however you would have to take the title of an assassin for that, which brings us to my dilemma because I really want Babylon Alley to stay in your hands.”

“There's nothing I would ever give them up for!” Clara raised her chin in defiance, but not her voice.

“I know...” Jacob said, thinking it was just the heart of his problem. The council hadn't liked the idea of spending its limited resources on a future assassin they wouldn't have at their disposal. “All you need to know right now is that I can train you, I can make sure Babylon Alley stays yours, but it will mean a huge commitment of time on your part.” Clara nodded, and Jacob continued. “Once you finish your training, you will be ranked an assassin, it's a formality, it's what you need to get the help you require, but it will happen you need to understand this and it might be a problem in the future, but it won't be now – now I want you to take some time and think about what I told you, really think... if you're in, you're in for life and I want you to be aware of that.”

By now she had stopped nodding along to his words and appeared to be deep in thought. “Thank you for the offer,” she said after a while. “But there's more, isn't it?” Clara's eye pierced him.

Regrettably, Jacob thought. “Smart girl,” he praised her instead. “I said that any of your children who want to become assassins, should be able to receive training as well, Evie and I started when we were six, so age shouldn't be a problem, however… they wouldn't be trained in London, but in Crawley, I've managed to convince them to let George oversee their training, he's a family friend, a little strict, but he means well and they would be in good care, I've asked him to come to London.” Jacob pointed towards the wagon's exit. “He's here now, and I'd like to you talk to him at least a little before you leave.”

Clara seemed a little surprised when she said, “you've given this a lot of thought.”

Quietly Jacob snorted. “You could say I know what it's like to be placed in unwanted care, and I won't allow you to place the children you aim to protect in the care of someone you don't trust.”

Thoughtfully Clara scrutinised him. “I will talk to George,” she said at last. “I expect I can find you here when I have made my decision?”

“Actually I've rented a place, it's a bit of mess still, but you can leave me a note there,” Jacob replied and wrote down the address for her. Clara studied the slip of paper for a moment, then pocketed it, thanked him again and bid her goodbyes. He returned them and couldn't help the smile as he watched her go.

He had attempted to clear the mess of paperwork, notes, pictures and newspaper clippings, he'd accumulated on Evie's desk when George returned.

“I can see why you want her to join,” he looked genuinely impressed, but Jacob saw it overshadowed by scepticism that might or might not have been there. “What's that going to be?” George pointed at the desk, his desk, no Evie's desk. Still Evie's desk, always Evie's desk.

“New assassination wall, I guess? Not sure, it's missing targets, but it helps with keeping track of the information we… I get...” Several slips of paper were already pinned to the wall next to Evie's bed. George's gaze followed the wave of his hand.

“Not taking down the old one?” George pointed over his shoulder.

An involuntary empty laugh responded. “I've wanted to...” Way more times that he liked to admit. “But I've kinda grown used to it, I think I'm keeping it a little longer… I'm surprised the council hasn't asked for it...” Surprised and glad, it would have forced him to part with Max, who was, unfortunately, the only reason he couldn't bring himself to take it down.

It was almost two weeks later that Clara stood on his doorstep, way too early in the morning, with the most determined expression he had ever seen on her face and Jacob knew that he had made the right decision.

Tired, but grinning Jacob looked at her, he would have stepped aside to let her in, but thought of Jack and then better of it and arranged for a later meeting. The fight from back then still lingered in the air in between them and it didn't help that Jack had picked even more with other children of her pack in the meantime. When asked who had knocked at this ungodly hour in the morning, aka demanding why Jacob had spent some of his time and breath and care on someone other than him, Jacob had merely replied, “business.” It wasn't much of a lie either. Clara always meant business, no matter the subject. Jack had scowled for a moment and then accepted his excuse.

Jacob wasn't great at cooking, but being forced to feed Jack had forced him to figure out a thing or two. Fortunately for Jacob in terms of food Jack seemed the least picky as long as it wasn't charred or had gone bad he seemed to be willing to eat anything. Food, was also an issue with Clara, however in an entirely different manner.

It was clear that she had not expected lunch, but she didn't object when Jacob sat her down and ordered her to eat. With question in her eyes, she looked at him, presumably trying to guess whether they were awaiting a guest or if Jacob planned to eat most of it by himself.

Despite having expected the issue and having thought thoroughly about how to deal with it, Jacob found himself pressing his lips together while searching for the right words. “Let me be honest here Clara,” he sat down across from her, rubbing his neck. “I don't think you're physically fit for the training, you have to eat more, what you have ahead of yourself is hard physical exercise and I don't want you to wear yourself out and faint because your body doesn't have the strength.”

Again Clara scrutinised him with that little frown of hers, and Jacob could practically see the gears in her head turning as she studied first him then the food on the table between them. “If I do this, I'll become strong and I can feed and protect them all.” That was her resolution it seemed because Clara stabbed her fork into a slice of meat with more determination than Jacob had thought possible. Up until now, she had been quite scared of any blade she had encountered, but this was giving him more hope that he had expected.

“Eat up”, Jacob smirked, trying to be as encouraging as possible. He couldn't help but watch her for a while, as she began eating. She was tentative, nibbling in small bites like a mouse and though he would have liked her to wolf everything down, Jacob abandoned all thoughts of further encouragement for now. Knowing that it was something Clara would have to grow comfortable with on her own. Deciding to take his time with eating, just like her, though he abstained from the mouse-like bites, Jacob continued. “We won't be doing any physical training today either, there are a few other things we need to organise first,” Clara made a little questioning sound, “well, you are going to need guards for the Alley when you are gone,” she would be gone much more than she would expect he knew. “You can have any of the Assassins and Rooks, but only two assassins.”

It wasn't so much that the children might have truly needed them, for all that Jacob knew Clara made sure that Babylon Alley was on all accounts as self-sustaining as it could be, but he figured it would take her mind off them and help her focus on her training if she knew for sure somebody was watching and making sure nothing happened in her absence.

“I want Miss Jolene,” Clara said without interrupting her bites, but also without taking her eyes off him. “I don't know who else.”

Nodding Jacob accepted her decision. Jolene had been one of Henry's recruits, and arguably the best of the whole group, strong and compassionate she would make a good guard for a bunch of children. “If you don't want anyone else we'll just let the Rooks know to keep an eye out on any suspicious behaviour in the area.”

“I'll think about it.” She replied and let him continue.

It would only take a few words and the Rooks to get Jolene to her new post. Thoughtfully Jacob chewed, leaning back in his chair. “Well, actually we have the first of many, many… many history lessons ahead of us, you will also have to dress like an apprentice now.” He had told George to bring some of Evie's outfits from when she had been around Clara's age. They wouldn't fit perfectly, but they would have to do till she got robes of her own. “And I want to make you acquainted with the weapons you will be carrying in the future since you will have to know how to use them.”

Clara's eyes met his for a moment, but if she felt anxious she didn't let him know. “I never handled a knife.” She declared matter of factly. Her expression suggested that she knew how to do so in self-defence, but had never purposely attacked anyone.

“I know,” Jacob said and continued eating, trying for a smile. “And you're not going to use one just yet, I told you we'll start slow.” Life on the street had made the little girl a lean young woman, Jacob tried not think of her as gaunt, but it was a close call. The years were making it rather obvious how Clara was putting the other children, especially the younger ones first. So to say she was simply thin was putting it nicely. “You're tough as a nail,” it brought a shy smile to her face and as if prompted she took a bigger bite. “But you shouldn't overdo it, you lack stamina, strength and muscles and we're going to need to build that up...” Jacob pointed at her plate, declaring, “that's the first step, proper meals, otherwise I won't train you.”

Her mouth stopped dead for a moment before she slowly continued eating, examining first him, then her plate just like she had at the start of it. Finally Clara nodded.

“But don't overdo it with the food either, you don't want to throw up, do you?”

Now she just raised her chin, quietly telling him that she knew how to handle herself and Jacob only smiled. It was just the first of many breakthroughs, conquests so to say, Jacob knew she had to make. Another would follow sooner than Clara might have anticipated.

It was the problem of the clothes. Not only because she was clearly outgrowing her dress, but also because every assassin apprentice had to look the part. Fortunately, Evie had a few chests full of clothes she had outgrown and George and Ned had been willing to help him get those to London, and now one of them was sitting in his bedroom waiting for Clara whose eyes grew big as she opened the chest and went through it.

Jacob was leaning in the doorway, when he told her, “those were Evie's, but you probably guessed that… I want you to have them, whichever fit anyway, take your time and if see what fits best, you don't have to wear the capes, Evie just loves them, but the coat and hood are mandatory.” Absent-mindedly Clara nodded, examining a pair of pants and being seemingly enamoured by the fabric. “I'll be over in the living room if you need anything – yell.” Again that blank-eyed nod like she couldn't believe what was happening, and again Jacob couldn't help the smile on his lips.

It faded as he left her to the clothes and her awe, trudging towards the living room barely attempting to counter the chaos he had surrounded himself with when trying to unpack and sort through books and papers and souvenirs. For now, he was trying to split the books and souvenirs between the train and here, but trying to figure out which belonged where just made the whole moving thing even messier. The only things he had been sure about taking with him, were Rook the Raven, Cadwallader's ribbon, Swinebourne's badge, Raffle's watch and the assassination wall. Rook at gotten a nice sunny place on his desk near the window, the ribbon, badge and watch had wandered onto a shelf and the wall was buried beneath several stacks of books and boxes. Jacob was sure because he knew he had carried it's box into the flat but he hadn't seen it since. But he had seen way too many books that needed sorting.

Jacob had trouble admitting it, but not falling asleep to the glint of the mask and its slowly blurring sight on the wall was rather unsettling. But there was nothing to be done about it, other more important things were at hand.

For some stupid reason he had adopted Evie's sorting system for books, which was making his process of sorting them onto the shelves a little slow and tedious, but for some other stupid reason, it was the only order his mind managed to organise.

Clara had taken her time and though it hardly looked like it Jacob had actually managed some progress. She was trying to hide how hesitant she felt, but her hands tugging at every piece of fabric she wore were giving her away. And even though he hadn't seen these clothes on Evie in years Jacob recognised the three outfits Clara had taken them from to find something fitting in an instant.

“Come, sit,” Jacob patted the spot next to him on the sofa.

“Why?” Clara demanded, but walked over and sat nonetheless. When Jacob turned her to face away from him, she turned her head towards him in scrutiny.

“I'm going to do your hair now, so sit still and head forward,” he turned her head away again. “I've done Evie's countless times, I know what I'm doing.” He assured her when his words only prompted her to look at him quizzically. Now she was sitting still, hands curled up in her lap, trying not to tug at her sleeves and coat and trousers Jacob presumed. Carefully he opened her braids. “New outfit, new hairstyle, new Clara.” That finally seemed to relax her a little. She even giggled quietly.

Her fingers flexed. “One day you will own one of these outfits and it will fit you like a glove,” he smiled and opened the second braid. “Every assassin should have at least a couple to always have a spare one…”

“It just doesn't feel right, all these poor kids and I'm getting new clothes and proper meals...” Clara said. The brush went relatively easy through her hair, and she didn't yelp when he brushed out the knots.

“I know, but we're working on that, aren't we? Keep that in mind while you're with me.”

“Yeah,” Clara said. With a deep breath, she straightened herself and then her clothes and with time seemed to relax somewhat, making herself a little more comfortable.

Braids were out. Evie had always worn braids, but he didn't feel like they suited Clara anymore, even though both of them were of rather practical nature. He had decided on something simple that she could fix herself without a mirror. Something that would fit her age better.

“Do you miss your sister… Jacob?” She asked, tugging at her sleeves as if trying to get comfortable in her new outfit.

“Sometimes...” Jacob admitted. There was no use in lying about it. “We've never been apart like this, this far and… this long... Do you have any siblings?” The brush went easily through Clara's hair now, it was a strangely relaxing practice and even though Jacob wouldn't admit it it was exactly why he had insisted on doing it.

“No... well, I guess you could say I have, all the children of Babylon Alley are family to me, I've been meaning to ask, is Miss Evie older than you?”

There was a pause, then a defeated sigh from Jacob. He figured it was a behavioural thing. “We're twins actually...”

“Really? Is she still older than you though?”

“Yes, by four stupid minutes now shut your gob,” Jacob grumbled and Clara laughed and they resumed their silence. Till Jacob announced he was all done and found her a mirror to examine herself in.

Carefully Clara turned her head to each angle, to get a good look at her new self. “It looks strange, not like me at all,” she smiled. “You… did a nice job though, I do like it, you have to teach me how to do that sometime, so I won't have to rely on you to fix it for me...” Clara smiled to herself with contentment and Jacob couldn't help but feel a little pride rising warm and comfortable in his chest. Pride that he should feel for Jack as well he knew. “But that's not what I will learn today, is it?”

“No, unfortunately, we have to start with the history lesson I promised... but before we do that we're going to get Jolene to your kids.”

There was a little frown on her face, but Clara nodded nonetheless and stood up. “I have talked to my children, there are actually several who would like to go to Crawley...” She admitted quietly. “I am still not sure how to feel about all of this, but George seems nice enough and I know they will have a better future...” Her voice trailed off and Jacob patted her shoulder.

“Come,” he said and got up. His hand was still resting on Clara's shoulder, but she needed no more than a gentle push to follow him. There was still some time before Jack would turn up again and he intended to spend it wisely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I did not make up some fancy ability for the eagle vision. In fact, this is based on what Altair experiences during the end of Revelations, on his final trip up the hill to the castle in Masyaf. Turning on eagle vision during that final trip will reveal previous interactions of him and Maria along the same path, they are depicted similarly to the ghostly imprints Jacob and Evie can leave behind for the Templars to chase. Only moving and talking. Cause when you stepped closer you could listen in on the conversations familiar to you from previous cutscenes. There is no canon explanation for how or why this happened, but I reckon it has something to do with a strong emotional connection both to the memories and place they are tied to. After all, Altair was particularly grief-stricken after her and Malik's death.
> 
> Next chapter on November 4th.
> 
> Preview: "“Coming to London must have been a shock for you,” Clara said with an unprompted grin on her lips as they stepped out of the train."


	6. In The Shadow Of Maxwell Roth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that you may be few by I treasure each one of you. A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into this story, so every reader no matter how quiet makes me incredibly happy. I see you guys and I love you.
> 
> So, I promised you Jacob's kid right? Rejoice because it is here! I sure hope you like the kid cause you're going to have to live with it in Jacob's life for maaaany more chapters. That being said, we can now all continue to lose our collective heads over Jacob and Hiram's arc. Listen, readers, I wholeheartedly meant the tag "Jacob Makes Questionable Life Choices." It's his thing, it's what he's good at. It's what keeps the story rolling in between plot points.

_London, May 1870_

The child had been born on a cold day in early February when Evie hadn't even been gone and it wouldn't be another month till he would see George, but Valérie hadn't paid him a visit until three whole months later. He had expected her around early or mid-March. Wearing her plain, white, expensive dress she had caught him only by chance. In case of his absence she surely would have tried to pick the lock, Jacob thought. He never seen her pick a lock, however lack of a skill had never stopped anyone from trying. And mothers he had come to find out were more determined than most ordinary people when they had to be.

Without a word she had dropped the little bundle in his arms and walked straight past him and Lewis to curl up in the big armchair, Max had kept in the living room. Like a cat she had stretched, then made herself comfortable while Jacob had stared half in wonder, half dumbfound at the empty space before him then at the baby in his arms, who stared back with large still blue eyes.

The one to close the door was Lewis, the sound making Jacob glance up at him, absent-mindedly weighing the child in his arms thinking that it didn't weigh any more than a small bag of fruits. Frowning he adjusted its weight and went to find Valérie, who seemed to be dozing, lounging in the chair like she owned it. Like she owned the whole damn place. Something coiled in his gut, upset at her behaviour. This wasn't how he had imagined it. _Any_ of it.

Funny enough a few months earlier the sight of her like this might have still been endearing, but right at this moment it only made his gut twinge with a sharp tug of anger. “ _Why_ ,” the word came out between gritted teeth, like ash spilling from his mouth in an all too familiar way even though the emotion was wrong. “ _Why now_.” No question, just a simple demand.

And when she smiled, oh so sweetly, Jacob felt sick to his stomach with it. “Why what?” Her eyes only glanced over the child in his arms.

Demonstratively Jacob shoved the child, his child, into her face. It was barely a newborn, still. “This wasn't supposed to go like this!” he found himself hissing, unable to pinpoint why it upset him so much – like always when the kid inside beat his fists against the walls in all his might, demanding to be compensated for the wrong which had been done to him.

Val pulled a face. “Try sneaking out with a wailing baby, when everyone is always hovering over you, worried about your health.” She dismissed his words with the wave of a hand, glancing away. “Besides it's not like I got to nurse her, I had to steal her away from the nursery and that wet nurse father hired.”

 _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ – The voice inside his head echoed, but Jacob dismissed it for the moment, trying to hide the confusion he felt when he noticed her hide a smile as he hugged the child close.

“Her name is Julia,” she said quietly, still watching him. “Julia Frye – I wanted something that sounds nice with your name.” She stressed the word in a strange way.

Again Jacob's glance shifted towards the baby, Julia, still looking at him with her blue eyes. Wondering where the spark was that every parent so instinctively seemed to feel, wondering if it had been the same for their father, but quickly dismissing the thought. Dismissing how much it scared him, so much that he couldn't help but visibly swallow.

“Something wrong? Are you intimidated by a baby?” Valérie teased, a half-smile on her face.

She spent most of her stay in a doze and those few waking moments seemingly absent-minded, but without understanding why it upset him it was no use getting angry about it. He had learnt as much from his sister.

He had tasked Lewis to find a wet nurse several months ago, but it was only now that they needed one. So while Val slept, he set Lewis to the task of finding one, once again – or the same, Jacob didn't care all that much as long as she was nice to his child. To Julia. He had to start addressing her by her name.

In the quiet of the flat, Jacob decided to put Julia to bed in her crib with the wooden mobile above her. She wouldn't be able to appreciate it just yet, he knew as much, but he had liked the thought of her having something to entertain herself in her waking hours when she was a little older. But now that he stood before the crib he hesitated, wondering if he shouldn't hold her a little longer. Wondering if their father had ever held them when they had been this small and helpless. Like Julia was small and helpless and dependent now.

Vaguely Jacob remembered Evie and himself leaning against their father, being six or maybe seven, half asleep while their father had told them stories, he remembered being huddled up with her in his lap, holding tight onto each other, but he didn't remember why he had held them. He tried to imagine their father holding them as newborn babies, there surely must have been an instance where it happened, he hadn't dashed out of the room once his wife had died even though his children must have been crying. Who would leave behind two crying babies?

Julia didn't cry, though she moved a little, stretching her tiny arms when he rocked her in his own. Adorable as it was the sight made him smile ever so faintly.

Their father had made a conscious decision after six years of separation that nobody had ever properly explained to them except for their grandmother who had had a way with words and could explain near everything, or so they had believed. When she had died both of them had cried bitter tears, tears that he had never spent on their father.

Humming Jacob sat down next to the crib, drawing his legs close as if to enclose Julia with all his body for comfort and protection. If that was all he could give, he would give it gladly, Jacob thought, as her tiny hand attempted to loosely wrap around one of his fingers.

To think he would raise a child was still a strange thought. It wasn't the same as training Clara who had outgrown her childhood already, or Jack who could hardly be compared to any ordinary child and certainly not to a baby, although Jacob thought he sometimes behaved like one. But it wasn't even a question, nor a decision, he would do what needed to be done. And that meant keeping her in this room, in this flat, in this building, in the Strand, shielded from Jack by living her life separate from him. Jacob hated the thought, not knowing how else to solve his situation. Wishing he could ask Evie for advice because no matter how much he would want to make time for her, it was a priority that Jack wouldn't notice what he was up to. Which was a question of negligence in the very end, one that had no right answer at all no matter how much Jacob wished for it to be different.

Keeping Jack away from the Strand would be ultimately impossible, but he could keep it at a minimum, given that it was better to never keep Jack too close to Scotland Yard anyway. The few encounters that Jack had had with them hadn't been pleasant either, so it would be easy or so Jacob liked to think.

Reluctance overcame him once more when he heard the door being unlocked. Knowing that Lewis would be here any moment, knowing that it meant he had to go and meet Clara. Wondering for a brief second if it really would be so bad to bring her here, but knowing better. Knowing that hiding something or someone away did not work like that.

With a sigh he heaved himself up, leaning Julia against his chest to balance her more easily on his arm, as he went to wake Valérie and walk her out the door. It would be better if she weren't present and nobody saw her, he knew as much and he hoped she understood as much. Tired she blinked at him and made no fuss on her way out, as Lewis showed the young woman he had brought with him around.

There was a sliver of intimidation as the woman looked up at him, but it disappeared at the sight of Julia and her expression brightened. “Can I hold her?” The words just seemed to fly from her mouth, and Jacob smirked. Feeling a little less reluctant as he allowed her to hold Julia. Deciding that it was a good thing how easily enamoured she was by her.

A moment long he watched her coo over Julia who didn't seem to like being handed around but quieted when Jacob stroked her cheek with a finger. As if his presence alone was enough to soothe her woes.

“You have free access to everywhere in this flat, look around… read the books if you like, it's all right.” Lewis had been a great help at sorting through Maxwell's documents, notebooks and other belongings that shouldn't be seen by the public eye and Jacob had organised a carriage and a couple rooks to bring them to his own flat. “Lewis will stay with you if you need anything, food, clothes, appliances, books, whatever he will fetch it for you.” Thinking for a moment Jacob paused, realising that he had been looking at Julia, not the woman who held her. Her hands were worn from chores and work, but they held her gently and seemingly practised. Blinking, he adjusted his stare to meet her on eye level. A mass of black hair which looked hard to tame framed her face. Strands had fallen out here and there.“I fear the nursery is a little spartan, add whatever you like, she's supposed to like it,” Jacob pointed at Julia and saw the woman nod. “And there's lots of stuff lying around here anyway… if you have any questions direct them as Lewis, even if they are for me, he'll make sure I'll receive them, I won't be able to be around at all time...” That sounded much nicer than the fact that he didn't even know when he would be able to return here in the first place. “I have to go now,” Jacob hadn't intended for his tone to droop so miserably at the realisation, but it did. If he were to have his way he would have stayed and never left.

Attachment, he decided, never played by anyone's rules.

 

_London, July 1870_

While Valérie had spent most of her visits dozing in a chair unless Julia had demanded her attention, Hiram found no trouble engaging her in games whenever he visited. Content to hold her if not anything else.

It was an odd picture whenever Jacob made the time to come by, to find Hiram with Julia in his arms. Never once expected – he didn't really expect anyone except Lewis to be present at all times – but always welcome. It also made him wonder each time what it would be like to come here and find Evie in his stead, carrying his daughter. Julia had fallen asleep in Hiram's arms as he had walked her around the flat.

“I remember you said you would like her, I didn't think you would like her this much...” Jacob said as he watched them. He had shrugged off his coat and put it across the back of a stray chair on which books and notebooks and paperwork had been stacked for a lack of care and storage room. “No...” He then said slowly, when Hiram meant to hand Julia over to him. “It's a nice picture.” Knowing that she could sleep as peaceful in Hiram's arms as in his own tranquillised an unnamed anxiety. The thought that he possibly wouldn't ever get to see her with Evie anytime soon crossed his mind.

“What can I say, she is adorable,” Hiram cooed, bowing his head to press a kiss to hers. He had been walking circles through the flat, but now limited himself by walking around the couch upon which Jacob had decided to sit. Not meaning to stare, but oddly distracted by Hiram's legs. “Val shouldn't have been her mother?”

“What makes you say so?” Jacob leaned back, crossed his legs. Closing his eyes for a brief moment as he listened to the slowing steps.

“Just because I love my sister dearly, doesn't mean I agree with her every whim...”

“Do you think she got what she wanted?”

“I'm not sure...” Hiram paused, a little hum straying from his lips. “Maybe you should have married her?” With mischief glinting in his eyes, Hiram looked at him. Almost daring.

“No,” Jacob laughed. “That wouldn't have worked, a fine husband I would have made – a lying and cheating one.” Lying about his work and cheating because his heart wouldn't belong to her and how on earth was that fair to a woman like her.

Both of them paused, unspoken words and thoughts hanging in the air. Jacob wanted to ask if he had any idea why she hadn't been coming by. If anyone would know it was him. Deep down Jacob thought that he knew, and the marriage she would soon be in was only partial to blame.

It wasn't her life anymore. No, it never had been in the first place. Julia had fulfilled the role she had assigned to her and Valérie was content believing that Jacob would care for her now. Keeping her warm and clothed and fed and happy in life, or maybe she truly didn't care and maybe he should have talked to her. But Jacob wasn't about to intrude on her life the way she had on his. Perhaps he would have done so before Starrick's fall before London had been first theirs and now his. But not now. Valérie would answer for her behaviour, but not to him. Julia would just have to get a little older. The heart-ache would come either way and it didn't have to be this soon. She wasn't old enough yet to ask about her mother anyway.

 

_London, September 1870_

Taking Hiram out of the safety that was the realm of Maxwell's flat had been a mistake on every possible level. Over time Jacob had taken up the habit of trying to take Maxwell's lesson of simply enjoying his company, if that was all there was to get for him, to heart, but that had been impossible to uphold away from whatever strange magic ruled in that place Maxwell had once called his home. That couldn't even be found by anyone who possessed eagle vision unless they knew where to look.

Outside, here, there was nothing to keep them complacent when they played their game. Any accidental flirtation which had them circling around each other, peering over the barriers they had set for themselves in the meantime. Hiram out of benevolence towards his sister. Jacob in complaisance. He even had to admit that it had been for the better not to start anything between them. Nothing had been equivalent to the steady flicker of a match for them. A warm spark that would never have the strength to flare up the way things were playing out. Maybe it never would have if Jacob would have never allowed Hiram to get dragged into the rest of his life.

“I know what you are doing.” Jacob had blinked innocently at him, as they had strolled through the park. It was late evening and people had been starting to head home an hour ago, but the quiet of the night provided good cover for the conversation they were going to have. Even though Jacob would have preferred the drink with which Hiram had lured him away from Julia. “I know the men you are working against, and I want to help.” There was a long moment of silence between them. Hiram was burying his hands in his pockets. “I work with them, they're business partners, acquaintances and supposed friends, I know enough about them to know that I don't want to be one of them, but I don't really want to stop doing what I do.”

In his silence, Jacob had contemplated what Evie would have said if she had heard his offer, how she would have judged their emotional involvement. Something told him she would have considered it worth the risk. Henry had taught her that, hadn't he?

“The Ghost had alliances,” Hiram pointed out.

Henry. Of course. An interesting thought that Hiram knew this much. It was one thing for Maxwell Roth to be informed about the Assassins. Another when it came from an uninvolved party. “Does that surprise you?” He smiled around his cigarette. Hiram seemed amused.

It would have been stupid not to accept, even the little voice in his head that sounded so much like Evie these days said so. George would have considered it too risky, Jacob would later remember having thought of that briefly. It almost amused him.

They were getting careless in each others company. Careless with the boundaries established all that time ago, but Jacob couldn't be bothered with that when Hiram's hands gripped his head, fingers tangling through the hair he'd been too lazy to cut short recently, and kissed him. The deliberation in his actions made Jacob's head spin, while he cursed himself that the other had it so easy to twist him around his little finger.

No words, no spell required neither of them spoke when they parted, Jacob could feel a shudder crawling up his spine under his gaze. If there ever should have been a moment for them to make the decision to stop it would have been that moment to heed all reason and responsibility they had been trying to hide behind before.

Weird how the one thing in his life to feel right wasn't right at all in the greater scheme of things, but then again neither had been Maxwell and Jacob hadn't seen anything wrong with that. Not until the factory incident, and that had been wrong on a complete nother level.

Weird how something that didn't feel wrong at all left such a bitter aftertaste. How real it made the thought that his life was finite and his days were counted from the moment he had taken the hidden blade as his own. How easy it was to forget that and everything else within a single kiss. To pretend that life was good and that he didn't hurt. To pretend that he was sure of all of his decisions, that they had been necessary and happened for a reason regardless if it eluded him or not.

 

_Crawley, September 1871_

Clara had been hounding him about a visit to George for about a whole year and then some before they had managed to make the trip. Much to her dismay Jacob had forced Jack to come along, as she was always weary of his presence and whereabouts. Despite the fact that she was taller than him and did have a good chance at winning a fight against him she seemed to shrink two inches whenever she faced him. Without a word Jacob placed his hands on their shoulders as he escorted them towards the train, uncertain whether or not he really wanted to spend the next half an hour cooped up with them in a train wagon surrounded by other people, but knowing perfectly well that leaving Jack alone in London was even more irresponsible than whatever this would turn into.

At the very least it was easy to busy Jack with a game of cards or the riddles he kept in his notebook. Jacob had started writing them down whenever he found or came up with one nowadays. Unfortunately sour was still a nice way to describe Jack's mood as he kept fidgeting and complaining and Jacob had to sit him in between himself and the window to keep him from trying to escape. Sulking Jack slid down in his seat, stomping his boots for a while as he watched Jacob play a game of cards against Clara. He had not wanted to join them. Only when he never got attention for the stomping of his feet, only disgruntled looks of other passengers and if they weren't directed at Jack directly they were focused on Jacob who simply ignored them.

Not even the promise of endless fields to run through and abandoned factories to explore helped in this scenario because it only started a series of “when are we there?” “that's taking too long” “I wanna go explore now!” And he kicked the legs of the table they were seated around, trying to clamber over Jacob who pulled him back without even looking, same as when he tried to steal away from under the table. “This is boring!” Jack declared loudly, crossed his arms and sulked, which in Jack's case looked a lot like frustrated frowning.

With a sigh Jacob put down his cards, to search his coat under their questioning eyes. “I bought this for you,” he said as calm as he was capable of still with a disgruntled Jack at his side.

“Don't like it, don't like reading, you know that,” Jack replied immediately with a scowl.

A half-smile settled onto Jacob's face, as right in this instant Jack reminded him quite a lot of himself when he had been younger. “You're gonna like these,” Jacob insisted and added before Jack could continue his string of complaints. “Penny dreadfuls about murders and detectives solving them.” Still scowling Jack looked first at Jacob then at the small stack of booklets placed in front of him, while Jacob had leaned in to make his words sound more conspiratorial and now ran a hand over Jack's unruly hair. His hand wandered around Jack's shoulders to flip through one of the booklets. “You know they're also called penny _blood_ …” Jack muttered an unwilling but fascinated “I didn't” and Jacob said, “look they're rather short, and you find murder cases interesting, don't you?”

He was obviously making a show out of it when he picked up the book oh so malcontent and leaned back to now truly sulk. “Still, don't like reading,” Jack muttered. “It's hard,” he complained.

“I know,” Jacob sighed, running a hand through his hair to soothe him and Jack just let it happen. Genuine affection seemed to confuse him most of the time, half the time he just let it happen like now, the other half he ducked away and complained or made a reluctant sound.

It took a while of stroking his hair, assuring him of Jacob's presence and attention that way, before Jack was truly quiet, swinging his legs now as he slowly made his way through the book. It had captured him after all.

When Jacob looked back at Clara she looked surprised but returned his smile although it was a little weak.

She wasn't wearing Evie's clothes anymore, she had so quickly outgrown them within the first year it had called for a visit to the tailor that had been more than awkward, but excitement had quickly taken over once she had tried on the finished outfit and Jacob had been witness to her swiftly slashing at the air with her kukri. It had almost made him laugh, as much as Clara kept reminding him of Evie, she did have her boisterous moments which seemed to grow in equal measure to her strength. Having gone through all the obstacles once had only slightly, at best halfway diminished the awkwardness of future tailor visits. Yet she wore this outfit just as proud as the others.

She had grown a bit and the fabric was neatly hiding her strong arms, but despite all the changes about her appearance it was clearly still Clara in speech and posture. Jacob was glad for it, he hadn't hoped for the Creed and his teachings to change her, only strengthen her because only this one particular Clara could do the job she had been doing all along.

“Coming to London must have been a shock for you,” Clara said with an unprompted grin on her lips as they stepped out of the train. Curious brown eyes wandered around the train station as Jacob dragged Jack along by the hand to keep him from running off, as he led them away.

The mill was a little outside of town, just close enough to make the distance convenient and far away enough to grant it its needed space. Once Clara had spotted it and Jacob had confirmed their destination she had run ahead within a matter of moments, declaring loudly she would be going ahead. With no reason to stop her in her excitement to see the children she had sent off to the mill Jacob trudged after her with an unwilling Jack at his side who tugged at his arm. Wanting to run off all the same, but Jacob knew if he let go now he wouldn't see him for half a day at least.

There was no George, not in immediate sight, but Jacob quickly spotted Clara and a group of children behind the mill as he followed the sound of their voices. She turned her head once as if asking for permission and Jacob only nodded, smiling. Then she turned back to the children and their endless bird-chatter.

“I wanna go explore!” Jack wailed, dragging at his arm, but Jacob didn't allow him to move away one inch.

Swiftly he grabbed him and stood him onto the nearest fence, immediately Jack was still. Not very happy, but still at last. “I want you to stay in sight of the mill,” Jacob said flatly. Behind Jack, he saw George approaching with a couple of workers in tow of his carriage. “Tell me the rules.”

“Stop fighting when there's blood or there is no fight no more and come home when there's trouble.”

“Good,” Jacob nodded. There was only a small chance of Jack actually doing what he wanted him to, but Jacob always felt better for trying. “Now there are a number of factories to the east, if you get lost I want you to go there and follow the river, it'll lead you back to the mill – all right?”

“Yeah, can I go now?” Jack asked, turning his head to watch the approaching carriage for a moment.

With a sigh, Jacob set his feet onto the ground again but kept a hand on his shoulder. “Say hello to George with me first.”

“She didn't have to!” Jack pointed out, pointing in the direction Clara had disappeared into.

“Don't point at others, it's not polite and you're going to Jack, it's what people do, Clara will greet him later.” And with that, it was settled despite Jack's grumbling.

“Jacob, what a surprise, I didn't know you planned on coming.” George grinned as he approached him, clasping a hand onto his shoulder and earning a wry smile. Jacob hadn't expected his touch to still spark that something he didn't want to name inside of him.

“Clara insisted on visiting her children,” he replied. “And I've kind of been promising her this for a year or so...” Watching as George's eyes fall from him to Jack at his side.

“How do you do,” Jack said in the most monotone voice a ten-year-old could muster. He then turned to Jacob. “Can I go _now?_ I said hello.”

Sighing Jacob muttered something that resembled a yes and patted him on the back. “Come back when you're hungry or tired, I don't wanna pick you off the road again,” he called after him, feeling George's smug eyes pierce him. “Don't say a word,” he grumbled.

George merely grinned, smug as can be. “You were just the same his age.”

Jacob said nothing as George gave orders and directions to his workers who slowly moved on with their carriage and he watched him wave at Clara when he caught her attention for a second, who waved back with a big, happy smile. Only when they were inside Jacob allowed himself to relax with a sigh, tilting his head back to express a groan of agony. “Don't say a single bloody word,” he muttered.

“I'd ask if he's yours, but he's a little to old for that, mind you.”

“How kind of you,” Jacob replied dryly. Trudging behind George and letting himself fall onto the couch which had been strategically placed right across from the fireplace. Quite a lot softer he added then, “but I guess he is now.” His eyes wandered to George who was bringing two bottles of beer. Handing one to Jacob he sank back into an armchair. George didn't drink, but his eyes lingered on Jacob as he did. Telling of something that Jacob was scared to place.

“I'm going to say something you'll hate me for, but you sounded just like your father, back there.”

“Thanks, I do hate you now,” Jacob replied, trying to swallow the uprising frustration it brought along. “But I didn't come here to argue with you.” Not to kiss him either, but that would have been a good middle ground. 

“I never expected you to be the first one with a child.” George merely shrugged in his innocent honesty. “I am curious though, the boy seems to be doing wonders for your character.”

“It's not Jack,” his reply came fast and flippant, but that only returned the smirk to George's face. It stung and made him reluctant to talk if only for a moment. “We aren't that much alike either.”

“What makes you think so? He's got your impatience.” There was that little smirk again on George's lips that infuriated Jacob just as much as it made him want to kiss him.

“You'll see...” Was all Jacob said, however, avoiding George's stare as he took a swallow from his bottle. “You'll just wait and see, George...” Disgruntled Jacob shoved his boot against a bump on the wooden floor, his own reluctance suddenly feeling foolish. He couldn't help but think of Jack's weight in his arms on the way back from Lambeth, the way he had fought him and how much it had broken his heart that day, after thinking for so long it couldn't be any more broken than it already was.

“Don't tell me you really picked him off the street.” Some moments George made a painfully accurate representation of his father, but other times he was merely a concerned uncle. Although he shouldn't use either of those descriptors now that he played with thoughts of kissing him, Jacob thought.

Right now he was leaning towards the latter, making Jacob a little less reluctant to give an answer. “No, well occasionally I have to, but no, not initially,” his voice was quiet, “...Lambeth Asylum.” He allowed the words to drop flatly only to unravel their full weight in the silence between them as their eyes locked.

“No way, Jacob, what were you thinking.” George shook his head, almost in disbelief. Almost admonitory.

Again he thought of Jack kicking and screaming till he had fallen asleep in his arms from exhaustion, and Jacob touched his chest where Jack had stabbed him, heaving a deep sigh from his ribcage. Only then he dared to look at George again. “I couldn't leave him there, I saw the way the treated him, he's just a child, he doesn't deserve the hell he went through,” Jacob hissed.

“So you thought you'd just what? Take him in, raising a child can't be that hard? Does Evie even–”

“I didn't intend to keep him it just happened!” Jacob argued in his own defence, he would have crossed his arms if it weren't for the beer in his hand. “She does”, Jacob then cut in. “Jack's been with me ever since before she went away.” Wrath burnt the back of his throat. It wasn't fair, he thought. None of this was fair.

“Then you're training him, like Clara?” George inquired, merely curious again.

The words were stuck in Jacob's throat. He looked at George for a moment, then away. He wanted to say, “yes” and “hopefully” or “of course”, but it all felt like a lie. He didn't want Jack here and he hated himself for even thinking of it. Not even an “I don't know” he managed, but George took his silence just as much for an answer and Jacob thought he heard him mutter something like, “I understand.”

“You understand nothing,” Jacob had meant to give way to his anger, make some use of his clenched fists and breath the heat he felt burning in his throat into his words. But instead his words were brittle and he shoved his boot against the bump where the wooden planks had bent. “Nothing at all...” He couldn't remember if he had always felt this contradicted about George, he just knew that it was there now and that he didn't know how to deal with it other than by giving in to the raw anger at the back of this throat.

“Don't take all the anger you feel for your father out on me, Jacob,” George's voice had grown uncharacteristically soft. “You know deep down that that isn't fair.” But deep down there was only an upset child which wasn't of much help.

“But he's dead,” his reply came unwarranted, immediately and hot-tempered, “and you’re alive and it's not fair!” _Not fair_ was a feeble descriptor for the fact that he hadn't ever gotten to the point of dealing with it either. “And it's not… _him_ ,” the word father didn't sit right with him, so Jacob liked to avoid saying it, “it's…” Maxwell Roth. The name sat on the tip of his tongue and Jacob had to swallow it harshly so he wouldn't say it because that was only half the truth anyway. “Everything,” he said it with so much defeat he felt it surging through his body and forcing him to lie down. Hating the fact that he had said anything at all, hating himself for it. Thinking that it wouldn't amount to anything, not with George who adhered the Creed so much it was easy to think he was it in the flesh.

Silence settled over them and after a while, George announced he would check in on Clara and the other children.

Jack's knuckles were bruised and the skin was bloody and raw, but if anything Jack looked more alive than ever now that he stood with his hands and face covered in blood in front of Jacob. Riding the high of the fight he had come running back hungry as he was, briefly complaining when Jacob insisted to clean the blood off of him first. Then his eyes had lit up and he had proudly declared he'd beaten an older kid.

“You don't have to prove to me that you're a good fighter, Jack,” Jacob merely sighed. Carefully he rubbed the blood off of his hands under George's careful watch.

“But I won!” Jack insisted irritated. Silently Jacob cleaned the blood off the knuckles of his other hand. “I won!” He insisted now louder than before. “You can give me a target now.”

“No Jack, that's not how it works,” Jacob replied quietly. He grabbed the collar of Jack's clothing to keep him from lashing out, still feeling George's stare on him hot like an iron poker. “Get him something to eat,” he merely said, directing it in George's general direction.

The light in his eyes disappeared the very instant Jacob had spoken. “I hate you.” But it wasn't Jack speaking, merely his bitterness and disappointment, both of which Jacob had come to know more than well.

From the corner of his eye he saw George get up, then he focused on Jack's face again. The blood revealed bruises underneath. “It's not...” Jacob thought for a moment. “It's not simply about being strong enough to win a fight, you have to be swift and efficient about what you do – you can't bleed all over your own crime scene.” Disgruntled Jack frowned, but allowed him to continue as he cleaned the wash cloth and carefully continued his doing. “An angry, bleeding enemy can still overpower you, Jack, pretend all you like but you're still a child, it's not time yet for what you want.”

Weary Jack accepted the food George was offering him and sat in some distance to Jacob on the couch while he devoured it.

“How's London fairing?” It was no more then an empty question to fill the silence in Jack's presence. George's eyes rested on Jack for a moment, who inched closer to Jacob under the stare.

It would be sundown soon, Jacob thought as he searched for the words. London had grown much quieter, the Templars were kept at bay and the Assassins were no longer forced to bench press its stability at any given moment. Instead, they were able to focus on research like Evie would have preferred it. But even though their presence wasn't visible the Templars had retreated largely for good for the time being. However it was likely their attacks on London wouldn't stop before the end of this century, they had at last chosen a new Grand Master (after two rather temporary ones which Jacob had taken care of with the help of the other assassins, which had ultimately caused them to turn tail and run at the time) who was surely already forging plans on how to regain their once so proud capital. He told all that to George, visibly boring Jack who soon had wandered off to explore the mill instead.

Clearing his throat George admitted, “you're doing better than I thought you would...”

“Is that about London or Jack?” Jacob questioned, feeling slightly irritated.

“Both,” George admitted as he looked towards the window to watch Clara and the other children who were still outside. Then back to Jacob, his gaze not as hard and with more pride than expected. “About her as well, you've chosen her well, I can see why...” Earlier he had spent some time talking to her, easing any worries she might have had left on her mind about sending the children away.

“I didn't choose her,” he shook his head. “There's just nobody who could replace her.”

They had stayed for a couple days at the mill, then another few at Jacob's old home – which had been left untouched and he didn't know how to feel about it – while Clara insisted on being shown around Crawley. Although it was largely less interesting than being shown around London, and just like that she had fallen asleep on the train back to London, just like Jack who had spent the whole time exploring and running around, thankfully getting into no more fights after the first one. Within a matter of minutes, both had been leaning against him, dozing softly. He had managed to wake her up upon their arrival in London, but Clara had simply fallen back asleep the moment she had reached his couch. While Jack hadn't even opened his eyes and he'd been forced to carry him back. Jacob had deemed it the easiest solution with how tired Clara had seemed, and Jack was asleep and had his own bed so there shouldn't be any problem he figured.

“How are you still awake?” Clara's voice was a tired groan from somewhere beneath a blanket on his couch. Tiredly she stretched and crawled out under her blanket as she sat up.

“I can't sleep.” It was half the truth. He had been poring over newspaper clippings and Scotland Yard files, while his thoughts had wandered. Eventually, it had grown too dark to see outside and Jacob hadn't bothered to turn on a light. He had merely leaned back in his chair, allowing the darkness to engulf him and his home.

“How come?”

How come? It wasn't the fire. It wasn't Maxwell. It wasn't their father, but instead of admitting that it was George and the fact that he had once again been stupid enough to kiss him again, Jacob replied with a question himself. “Were you always an orphan?”

“Hm?” Clara blinked, he couldn't see it in the dark, but her tone had made the confusion obvious. “No...” She said after a while, her voice had grown dull. “My mother withered away after my father left when I was nine, she passed away when I was eleven, but that's okay, she never cared much for me anyway since father left… and I was earning all the money anyway, I could finally dedicate myself to Babylon Alley after that.” She paused, Jacob could feel her eyes scrutinising him through the dark. “You never like it when someone mentions your father… why?” Her voice had been hesitant when she spoke.

A trade-off, Jacob thought with a chuckle. That was just like her. “I never liked him.”

“You told me that,” she replied indignantly. “But if I thought that was all there is to it I wouldn't ask.” The question must have been burning in her mind for longer than she wanted him to know. “You never mind talking about your mother and sister,” she pointed out.

“Our father...” strangely Jacob had never come up with a different way to address the man, although he had considered to change it more than once. “Our father handed us off to our grandmother and went to India for six years in response to our mother's passing, and for six years we were told he wouldn't ever come to see us when we asked about him and the one day he stands in the door and declares he's going to take us home and expects I'm supposed to act like everything's all right and he didn't leave us behind…” He closed his eyes, although it made hardly any difference for what he saw without eagle vision. “Evie...” It was a sentence that would forever remain unfinished. Evie had adored him from day one, he remembered that more clearly than most other things. “He never even approved of my methods...” Using those exact words turned his stomach for how true they rang. “Go back to sleep,” he grumbled into the quiet that followed. His thoughts wandering back to the kiss he'd shared with George, wondering what had changed in between this visit and the last that this time he couldn't get him off his mind. Trying to find some reason in his actions, attempting to give sense to them.

A stupid kiss that had been the beginning of the end of Hiram's part in his life.

It wasn't abruptly, but gradually. A decline that he could merely watch, but couldn't ever stop. Making him wonder why it felt so awful, why it felt like cheating, when it had been so evident that what they had didn't go that deep. (He had wanted it to be, but considering how easy it had been for him to kiss George, Jacob had had to re-evaluate that point.) That it had been doomed from the start anyway, or so he liked to tell himself. There was something terrible about knowing that a man like Hiram deserved better than someone who sought to ease his own hurt.

Evidently twice hurt. A lot.

It had been late evening, Jacob had meant to walk past him, but for some reason, his mind had blanked and he had ended up planting a kiss on George's lips, taking both of them by surprise. To say it was one wasn't quite right either unless you counted it as one rather long kiss with breaks which sort of accidentally had happened and had kept Jacob from working for the rest of the night.

Good men didn't kiss other people they didn't love when there was someone who did. Hiram was a good man, but Jacob himself wasn't by his own standards. Perhaps that was why he had allowed it to happen because nothing in the world would be able to change that not even the Lancelot of his life.

The pull which had kept them together once now had turned into a drag forcing them in opposite directions. And because Hiram was as good a person as he was he accepted that and didn't take it on either him or Julia.

Unable to put a stop to it all Jacob could do was watch it happen and wonder why he had caused it. He had wanted Valérie just as little as she had wanted him. He had to be that fair to her, what they had wanted could have been obtained through any other willing person. They had been distractions to each other and little else. Means to an end. Could have been friends, if it hadn't been for Julia, and Valérie's marriage. The one thing he had wanted from the first day on had been Hiram, but evidently _wanting_ wasn't enough. Never had been. In retrospect, he should have learnt that too from Maxwell. Contentment was harder that he had made it look.

Love was another matter. One that was easy to hide behind when tossed around without meaning. One that Jacob wasn't comfortable to attach to Max and himself either, albeit for entirely different reasons than when it came to Hiram. Concerning Hiram, it was an entirely different matter. He had loved him, maybe not as he should have at first, but there was a fondness to his thoughts about him. He had loved him, but when had he ever known how to deal with that. Love was fickle and grand and went over Jacob's head when it came for him. It made him wear his heart on his sleeve in the worst possible way.

He had loved him. He hadn't realised that in time. He hadn't loved him enough and in the right way.

Under different circumstances, it might have cost Julia the relationship with her uncle, something Jacob was more painfully aware of than he liked anyone to know. It wasn't a pleasant thought and he knew that it shouldn't be. He should have apologised as well. Jacob couldn't rid himself of that thought either. But he was growing accustomed to the new circumstances, albeit slowly. Regrets were worse, he decided, when you were dealing with a living person and not a dead one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to know... how you all would have named Jacob's kid? I've heard Emmett is the #1 choice of this fandom, but I'm sure we can come up with more than that?
> 
> Somebody wanted to know from me whether he'd pick an English or a Welsh name, so I'd like to add that Julia is actually of Latin descent. Which is to say, he picked neither. Actually, as you know now he didn't pick at all. Val picked.
> 
> Next chapter will be out on November 18th. Preview:
> 
> “Knowing your surprises, I should bring a shovel, shouldn't I?”


	7. Exceeded Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Lewis told Jacob last chapter is based on a thought I had, unfortunately, Julia had to be a little older to execute that thought. So you'll find it implemented in this chapter. I'm sure you'll recognise it. I'll be honest I don't really want to tell you a whole lot about this one cause it'd spoil the big surprise, but I can already promise you more Julia! Now hands up who agrees that Jacob with a kid is totally adorable.

_London, December 1871_

For as long as Jacob could remember Evie had loved books. The first time they had entered their father's study, her eyes had grown so wide and big, she had looked like a fish. She hadn't been able to tear them off the shelves for a sheer endless moment, Jacob remembered the tight grip of her hand as she had dragged him along to marvel everything up close. For his sister, they had contained something more than information, than dates and numbers and events to be memorised and recited. Reading had become tiresome under that aspect, but Evie had failed to understand it. Or maybe she had understood just perfectly fine because she had given him a collection of short stories on their thirteenth birthday. A book he hadn't touched for another six months and then hadn't put down for a week straight. 

Evie had read every book in their father's library, Jacob had read whatever he had been forced to. They had made a competition out of everything for as long as Jacob could remember, but this had been a fight he had allowed her to win her with ease. To him, it had been nothing worth competing over, just like the search for the Pieces of Eden.

The first time Evie had tried to get a foot in the door was with that collection of short stories. There had been knights and pirates, treasure hunters and daredevils and thieves, but it hadn't been enough to excite him about history books. So most of their required reading Jacob had worked through together with Evie. It had been an unfailing method, she had read the books to him, most of them anyway, sometimes she had simply read only the important bits and pieces or summarised her reading, while they had cowered on a windowsill, on a tree, on the staircase or under a desk or on one of their beds. They had huddled together and she had read to him while he had brushed and braided her hair. The monotonous task had busied him just enough to keep his mind from wandering and his hands from fidgeting. Braiding wasn't all he had taught himself, but Evie was of a rather practical nature so that had been her most frequent request. If she had requested anything at all and he hadn't simply been allowed to do whatever he fancied with her hair.

His unwillingness to pick up a book had caused all sorts of reactions from his sister throughout the years, but most of the time it only caused her to roll her eyes at him.

It had been for Clara that he had gone through the shelves of the train, long before he had been able to go through with his plan. Not to soothe Evie's suspicion (okay maybe a little), but instead out of his own will to raise a good assassin Jacob had known he had to adapt her character, if only to the barest minimum.

For as long as Jacob could remember he had never much liked to read, but the compulsion to pick a book off of Maxwell's shelf had been overwhelming.

One of the things Evie had taught him about books, and maybe the most important thing, was how they were a personal experience. And though he had hardly ever picked it up growing up he had learnt how to read someone's character from their bookshelves. And as overwhelming as the masses of books were that Maxwell owned he had read so much from them without even touching their spines. Max liked fairy tales and plays and myths and a few select history books that supported his other interests, he could also see a number of biographies. Just going by his taste in books a small hopeful flicker that he and Evie would have gotten along sparked in Jacob's chest.

It was an oddly intimate way of getting to know someone, Evie would have surely agreed on that, Jacob thought as he blindly grabbed for a book. There was no use in pretending he knew what he was looking for, so there was no use in pretending that he cared for what he would read for a start either.

Book by book he had made his way through the shelves, most of them were plays, just like half of the paperwork Maxwell had kept. Their stacks of paper waiting to be bound with thread into spines and given covers carried memories Jacob had struggled to keep out of his mind far too much and long. On the many occasions that he had caught him working, without any plans for the day, the scritch-scratch of pen on paper had accompanied their conversations if he hadn't fallen asleep to it and Maxwell's muttering.

It those moments Maxwell had been neither blighter nor mock templar nor questionable ally, merely a playwright with all the problems it brought with itself. 

He had carried them with him, the novels and plays and history books, like splinters of their relationship, left behind. He carried them underneath his coat as Evie would. Too close to his heart, Maxwell would have warned.

As Jack held no particular interest in their history, Jacob left it at shoving the most important teachings down his throat. Which was hard enough on its own and often led to arguments between them, but somehow Jacob managed to have him sit still for a least a few minutes each day before all of that. It was easier over a game of cards, but Jack didn't like losing and he often did, when he had to think about the ways of the Assassins while playing. Meanwhile, as if to contrast Jack's behaviour Clara happily devoured Evie's library. Not all the books in the world seemed to be enough for her, and especially not for him, although Jacob was rather proud of the shelves he'd read through in the past years. All for her, only to have it be not enough, but it was hard to be upset when it seemed to make her so obviously happy that she could read all she wanted and borrow whatever she asked for.

It was the fighting, the weapons and climbing that came easier to Jack, like an instinct, like something very much part of him. No wall was too high, no scraped skin or bruise hurt enough and no enemy was too dangerous to stop him. If there was a will there was a way, and for Jack, there was always a will.

Die trying. Jacob couldn't help, but to think of it that way when he watched him, despite the fact that it conjured up images of the burning Alhambra and the sound of Maxwell's voice and laughter. And then he would send Jack for another round, thinking, hoping, begging silently the exhaustion would help to stop him.

On good days Jack fell into his bed the moment he came home, asleep just minutes after that, but the spark never seemed to die. Never. Never. Never. Always glowing like an amber, it's fire poked with every climb, every hated fight against straw dummies. And at the end of it the question.

_When._

“When will I get _mine?_ ” His little hand grasped around Jacob's left arm where the gauntlet was whenever he carried him. “When can I kill someone?” – “When will I get a target? A _real_ target.”

The fact that he was a mere child who didn't stand a chance against a full grown adult didn't seem to matter. There were days when he wished Jack would always be a child, always too small and weak to fight their fight, but he had already grown so much since he had picked him up. It was a fine illusion that he could give his thoughts to for a while when Jack slept, but no more. Soon he would outgrow his clothes again, soon he would have to let him loose, then all he would be able to do was hope. Hope that Jack remembered what he had been trying to teach him. That he would see it for what it really was, not a free pass to kill, but a way to channel whatever it was that he held inside him. That he wouldn't turn into another Maxwell Roth.

Jacob knew Clara had figured out Jack's whereabouts pretty early on, but so far, even on their visit to George, she had not remarked on it with more than the occasional disapproving look. So when she asked it took Jacob by mild surprise.

“Why?” She had asked, weighing the throwing knife in her hand as she considered her target. It landed somewhere in the lower neck of the straw dummy, which she scrutinised from afar. It was a lucky throw, but she seemed content with it nonetheless. She didn't have trouble missing the body most of the time, but her accuracy naturally lacked practice.

“Not an instant kill, but that'll hurt like hell and bleed out quickly,” Jacob pointed out, leaning against the back alley’s wall. “Aim a little higher and a little more the left – an angry bleeding attacker can still overpower you.” She nodded and Jacob watched smiling as she tried again. “Now that's a little better.” There was still a long way to go, but they had time, Jack wouldn't be out on the streets anytime soon.

“You didn't answer my question,” Clara pointed out.

Heaving a sigh from his chest Jacob lowered his glance, almost willing to tell her there was no proper reason. Even though he couldn't imagine her buying that. “Do you remember Maxwell Roth?”

She froze as if reminded of something… Jacob couldn't put his finger on whether or not it was unpleasant or not, but he figured it said enough that her knife landed its mark. “Haven't heard that name in a while...” She laughed, nervous, then shivered. “Don't say it so casually, his name still holds power.”

Amused Jacob smirked. “Does it?”

“Yes,” Clara replied grimly. “His debtors would still tremble if someone came in his name to collect their dues… that is if the person doing so can measure up to his footsteps, but that's never going to happen, nobody called him London's most feared man for nothing.” She smiled up at him now, relieved about the revelation of his death not even aware that she had to thank him for it, but Jacob didn't reciprocate and waited for it to fall from her lips. “I don't like where this is going,” she replied, quietly, shaking her head. “Don't tell me my children were right and you really worked with him...” Or maybe she did.

Opening his mouth Jacob thought of all the things to reply, but ultimately only sighed, before saying. “That's a story for another time.”

“So _I am_ right!”

“ _Another time_...” Jacob insisted, almost gritting his teeth. Taking another deep breath he forced himself to speak more softly. “I have to try Clara… it's all I can do, so I have to, or he'll end up just like Maxwell _or worse_.”

She scrutinised him for a long time, displaying her dismay and fear clear enough for him to read, but he couldn't let her know that he feared the same. That all he was doing would only make Jack an efficient killer because it was too late for morals. Too late for humanity. Too late for any attempt to soften this little, cold, hard thing in his chest which resembled a heart only in appearance then.

He would have liked nothing more than to ask Evie about this matter, but it was clearly his pride which got in the way, telling him he would be able to handle it alone like he had all the times before. He had handled Maxwell. How much more difficult could this be.

He would have liked nothing more than to ask her about children as well, but that was another matter Jacob found himself speechless over for a variety of reasons. One was that it would take too much time for her reply to arrive and he needed her answers now, the other was that Jack, albeit generally uninterested in his correspondence with his sister, wouldn't take kindly to finding out he was hiding a child from him (and everyone else but especially from him.) So it was better to say nothing and write nothing and leave her just as oblivious as everyone else. Jack held a curiosity that would stop at nothing once something caught his interest.

Reading wasn't Jack's favourite pastime, but Jacob found that sitting him down and having him practice his writing helped a lot to focus his otherwise restless mind. Perhaps it was because Jack was indeed determined to learn this just as much as he wanted to learn how to fight, or perhaps it was because there was always an end to it and Jacob lacked the nerves and to force him to do anything more than he felt capable of. He did practice on his own though, Jacob had found discarded pieces of paper with unruly scribbles on them. When faced with understanding Jack often acted… strange to say the least, confused was a more accurate word and Jacob didn't exactly know what to do then. Although the confusion seemed to halt him in his tracks, if only for a moment and it was then that Jack was most susceptible for a few moments of theoretical teachings and questions about why they were doing what they did. His questions weren't of the same kind as Clara's though.

As the months had gone by Clara had been making tremendous progress, and despite her initial hesitation when handling blades she had gradually overcome it. Although there was a great difference in stabbing a dummy made of straw and a real person. She had been taking her training more than seriously, and much to Jacob's relief her hunger had grown as well.

_London, January 1872_

Clara had been waiting on the train, she had crossed both her legs and arms, scrutinising him for a moment before saying, “you don't look like you're fit to teach.”

“Says you.”

“Says I,” she confirmed with a curt nod. “Want to talk?” She offered with a puzzling look that Jacob couldn't quite decipher, but instead he made her follow him.

His improvised lesson for the day was a game of stealth. So far she was doing well with the weapons and her stamina had been improving too, but Jacob admittedly had neglected Evie's favourite subject. Fortunately, there were quite a few empty houses in London to choose from for their endeavour. He picked an old blighter hideout which had been neglected ever since its owners had perished.

Jacob had taken up Evie's habit of carrying a book with him, but he found it hard to concentrate and not because he was listening to Clara upstairs or kept the occasional eye on her using his eagle vision, but because he found his thoughts wandering back to Julia and the predicament Jack had placed him in. It was a reoccurring thought, directed by emotional spikes Jacob had little control over.

Clara's task was to get downstairs without being noticed and surprise him at the desk, but of course, that wouldn't work the first time, it never even worked the first hundred times, something Clara would soon figure out.

Frowning, Jacob found the letters dancing in front of his eyes, unwilling to make sense, so he just kept staring at the book, listening to the sound of Clara's footsteps.

Jacob cleared his throat. “I can hear you,” he said. He could also hear Clara taking a deep breath, not out of frustration, just a sigh, and marching back upstairs to try anew. After a couple more tries she started cursing under her breath. Up until now, he had only been teaching her to move quietly by mapping out paths for her to walk around his flat, and although Clara always looked at him with critical eyes, she never questioned him out loud. He had also taught her how to balance her weight to make as little noise as possible when approaching the dummies, but he had never actually let her put it to practice like in this moment.

After a while, his response to the treacherous creaking of the floor had become almost automatic. “How?!” Clara yelled frustrated, she had made it to the middle of the stairs. Deliberately she stomped down the stairs and sat on the desk. “I need a break,” she sighed exasperatedly. For a moment she focused him, then observed, “you haven't been reading, not a single page.”

“You're doing well,” Jacob assured her, smirking about her observation. It seemed to come as easy as breathing for her. If this kept going she would be a fine assassin in no time, despite all she would be thinking right now. “Stealth takes time and patience, you're not going to learn it within a matter of hours or days, and even when you're really good at it, it sometimes fails you.”

“You're distracted,” Clara said instead of replying to his words.

With a quiet _thud_ , Jacob let the book fall against his chest, and he placed his legs on the desk next to Clara. At times it seemed to him, she knew how he liked to hear her make observations because it was those moments that she reminded him of Evie the most and it made him miss his sister a little less.

“Are you going to tell me why?”

For a moment long Jacob found himself searching for the words but then decided against it. “No...” There was no way he could tell her. It was a matter of safety, as much as he hated that thought himself.

“No more training for today…?” Her voice now strangely quiet and gentle.

“No...” Jacob agreed sighing, with no intention of getting up anytime soon either.

He would have liked to bring Julia with him more than anything, she had grown into a bubbly little toddler while Clara was growing into her role as an assassin and Jack was learning to pick his fights or so it seemed, Jacob felt more like he was starting to choose his victims with more care. The fact that Jack made him think about victims made his stomach turn.

Clara's response was to hum quietly and swing her legs, crossed at the ankles like the child she had been when they first met. She hid it so well, that it was easy to forget at times that you weren't talking to a teenager who was only now growing into the role she had played for the past years. Always behaving so much more grown up than she appeared on first glance.

“Can I ask you something then?” Her voice broke through the silence. Jacob urged her on with a quiet hum. “Why are you helping me like this? You know... I would have agreed to send my children to Crawley anyway, if they want to become assassins that's fine with me, it's a lot better than living on the streets, so why…?” A small frown showed on her face when Jacob glanced at her before resuming to stare out the stained window over the desk.

“Unlike the Templars we don't aim to control, you know that, so whenever a city falls into our hands, our aim is to give it back to its people and fall into the shadows, by training you I can make sure London's orphans will always have a safe place to go to and someone to look after them… Babylon Alley will be self-sufficient in every sense of the word, which just happens to be something both of us want, also it will be in better care in your hands than any assassin I could ever task with watching over it.”

The following moments were filled with more silence, albeit the fact that she found his praise quite obviously flattering, till Clara abruptly jumped up and declared in a sudden burst of happy motivation, “I'll try again, five more times and then I could use some lunch, okay?” But instead of waiting for his answer she dashed upstairs. Jacob smiled and turned to face the book again, he wasn't hoping on reading anything, but holding it gave him the pretence of being busy. And that made him feel better plenty.

A curious thing had happened when Jack had found out about his eagle vision. He had talked. It wasn't that Jack never talked or only very little, but when he did he hardly did so about personal things. So to have him sputter about this one thing so hastily had Jacob hoping, hoping that he might open up even more, that he was on the right track, that he was helping Jack after all. Thoughtfully Jacob had listened, uncertain what to make of what Jack described in its full extent.

“I didn't see words before, but I do now, they tell me what to do, like an order,” he frowned, bobbing up and down on his feet. “It doesn't go away unless I do what the words say, but then new words come and sometimes they just get worse.” Pressing both palms over his eyes Jack took a deep breath. “It's all I can think about then…” He glanced away, voice growing unnaturally quiet. “Jacob… when I'm angry everything's red.” He looked up at him, anxious and for the first hopeful. “ _Everything_.” He repeated with emphasis. “Can you teach me how to make it go away? I'll do whatever you want – _anything_.”

Jacob scrutinised him, running a hand through Jack's hair before resting it on his shoulder. “Is that why all you sometimes do is yell at everyone?” There was a pause, Jack's eyes grew dull and he nodded eventually. “I'll be honest with you Jack, it takes a lot of effort to control this ability and I cannot promise you, you'll master it, but it's always worth the try, okay? It took Evie and me an extremely long time to gain the control over it the way we wanted to, I'm not saying this to discourage you, all I want is, to be honest with you, do you understand that?”

Jack rubbed his nose, still staring at him blank-eyed, but it seemed like he was thinking this time. “Can I control it?”

“I don't know Jack, like I said it takes a lot of effort and time, but we can try and I'll work with you on it if that's what you want – there are very few people alive who have this sense in the first place, and even fewer are assassins so we don't know a lot about it, even though we know it can be controlled we also know that not everyone who tries succeeds.” The disappointment in Jack's stare made his gut sink with rocks. “We'll figure something out Jack, I promise… we'll try.”

Jack nodded. Jacob tried not to swallow, hoping he hadn't gotten himself in over his head, but knowing down to the marrow of his bones that he had to try anyway.

_London, November 1872_

Julia had ever since she had started walking left her mark on Maxwell's work. She had a grabbed one of the unfinished plays lying on the floor and started to crumple it, ripping at the pages with childish glee. Several pages had already been gone by the time Jacob had returned to her and several more had spilt ink all over them, making entire passages illegible. Her clothes and fingers had likewise been ink-stained. 

When she had recognised him, she had beamed up at him in her childish joy, forcing Jacob to stop dead in his tracks with the scolding burning in the inside of his throat. Instead, however, a laugh erupted from it and he found himself dropping to his knees and pulling Julia into his lap, where he kissed her head. His anger had turned ridiculous in light of her joy and the obvious realisation that her censorship of his works, would have just been to Maxwell's taste. Wild and unpredictable as only a child could. 

Ever since then she had laid waste to several more plays, most of them unfinished and discarded by Jacob because they hadn't been able to keep his interest. A few others on accident, and the occasional page lost to the fireplace because of Julia’s curiosity. (And burning things was a fascinating pastime Jacob could agree.) The remaining pages were gathered and stacked once again, then returned to where they had come from. 

On the occasion that he had the time to supervise her, Jacob allowed her to paint the pages with ink. Which was harder than it sounded because Julia seemed much more interested in trying to eat it. Like she was trying to eat everything those days. Either worrying or amusing Jacob with her antics. She hadn't quite figured out how to hold and use a pen either, but Jacob enjoyed helping her create whatever nonsensical squiggles she deemed important to add to Maxwell's work. Her will to stab the paper with the pens, however, amused him greatly. 

Allowing her the freedom of playing with the paper like that had kept her hands off countless others, and Jacob didn't have to prevent her from ripping to shreds what he was reading or working on. In a way, it kept both of them happy. 

Needless to say, Julia felt at home in Maxwell's flat – Jacob could never quite bring himself to think of it as his own flat, he hadn't even bothered to clean it out. Not even the wardrobe. At the very least he would have to keep his coats. 

He liked to come here when he needed a moment to rest. None of the assassins knew of this place and none of them were capable of eagle vision – not like him and Evie anyway, and Jack didn't exactly count – so it was unlikely they would ever find it either. He liked to come here to find a moment to breathe and let the odd nostalgia this place woke wash over him. It rattled at emotions buried beneath his skin, some lying deeper than his bones, some others wouldn't let him sleep, but that was all right. The weariness he felt wasn't one which could be solved by a good night's sleep anyway. 

From across the flat, he could hear Julia's so not stealthy toddler-footsteps. Closing his eyes Jacob sighed deeply, it was the middle of the night there were only so many reasons she couldn't sleep. When he opened them again his world was tinted in a calming blue, and Julia was climbing onto the couch, on top of him and once there slumped down on his chest. Smiling Jacob ran a hand over her head, muttering the question, “missed me?” Whereupon a tiny “uh-hu” answered him. She always missed him, and Jacob made it a priority to ensure she knew he wouldn't ever leave her on purpose. No matter if he couldn't stay, he would always come back as long as he was alive. Trying to be as honest as humanly possible about why he had to leave in the first place without scaring her. 

“Storytime?” It was not a demand, simply a question although she already sounded drowsy. 

Storytime, Jacob thought to himself wondering. It was too dark to read, even with eagle vision on. They had skipped that earlier when she had fallen asleep over a newly arranged play, drooling onto the paper. Evie sure would frown about this Jacob thought and smiled but felt nothing. 

Most days he came here to think, but today wasn't most days, today was one of those days were it was hard not to think about what had happened in those first few months in London four years back. Had it been four years already? They had gone by in a blink for Jacob, and for a brief moment that felt way longer than it must have been, he wondered if it was the same for Evie. 

“Once upon a time… no...” he found himself sighing. “There once wa– … no… not right… maybe…... Jube?” But there was only a soft snore to be heard when he poked her arm. Smiling to himself Jacob made himself comfortable and tried to sleep anyway. If only all his problems could have been solved this easily by the presence of a loved one. “Nevermind, this is a sad one anyway...” 

_London, June 1873_

It was a similar situation the first time he told her the story, she was three, freckle-faced and it was a hot summer night and neither of them could sleep and Jacob was half-heartedly questioning his parenting skills because Julia seemed more than fine to spend her time lying next to him on the floor. He had piled up a few coats to make a pillow and she had done the same with her blanket. 

When asked Julia had replied, “it's too hot to sleep,” and Jacob had made no effort to convince her otherwise. Feeling much the same, he had simply agreed. “Way too hot,” she complained, thumping her fists against the carpet, and then almost in the same breath, “tell me a story, wanna hear a story.” She always wanted to hear a story. And she had been going on about it for at least half an hour, while Jacob had been trying to come up with anything that didn't involve Maxwell. Albeit unsuccessful. 

Chances were that she would fall asleep were slim, but Jacob had no better idea how to pass the time and yet, he shouldn't. Not with his mind stuck in the same old loop that Maxwell Roth still made him live through on occasion. 

“Papa, story time,” she insisted, pouting now. Her hand was pushing against his rib cage for attention. 

“I'm thinking,” Jacob replied, his gaze unmoving on the ceiling while his thoughts raced to pick up anything else other than his first months in the city. Usually, his mind was quick to come up with impromptu ideas. When she had been little, Jacob had used his talent to spin together nonsensical stories. The process of telling a story had been more important than whether or not it had made sense, something which they had been gaining little by little with Julia growing older. 

Maxwell had read his plays to him, and some of the books he owned, Jacob thought, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the voice that played inside his head. It was getting easier now, focusing in on the memory ghosts, but it was hard to get them to stay. He had been practising it on and off whenever Julia was asleep and he found a spare moment to come by. He could hear him talking in the other room, but Jacob couldn't be bothered to chase away the memory. On nights like these, where he couldn't take his mind off of him, Maxwell's theoretical presence eased the hurt. 

“...” Jacob opened his mouth, uncertain where to begin and if at all, but she kept bugging him about a story and whether or not it was a good idea – certainly not ideal – it was the only thing on his mind. 

“There was a city, much like this one, but not quite the same an assassin who had made it their task to free it–” 

“What's n ashashin?” 

“An assassin erm… that's someone outside the law, someone who's after bad people, the really, really bad ones, those even the police has trouble catching,” Jacob answered, trying to keep his mind from racing ahead with the story. 

“Oooh.” Julia attempted to clutch a stuffed animal that wasn't there, so she resorted to grabbing onto her shirt. Jacob had never bothered to tell her she couldn't wear pants and shirts as well as dresses. The latter wasn't as practical for running around and getting yourself dirty while playing anyway. “Do they like children?” She asked, like she always would when something new was explained to her. Her first concern was whether or not it caused harm to her. 

“Of course, they would never hurt children,” he glanced at her with a half-smile, noting that this alone seemed to soothe her plenty. “But the city was in bad, bad shape, an evil man had taken control of it with the help of his many helpers and underlings… so the assassin”, he could hear her mumble the word for testing purposes under her breath, it made him smile again, “took it upon themselves to free the city from these awful men, they wanted to return it to the people who lived there so they could all live in peace… they weren't alone though the assassin had a sister who had come with them and they wanted to free the city together, each of them had their own way of doing things and back then, both of them thought little of the other's methods, the sister thought the assassin irresponsible and they thought her foolish for not going after the people who controlled the city but her research instead – each step along the way they fought over the stupidest things, little by little losing themselves and their friendship as time progressed... 

The sister thought she wasn't being taken seriously and the assassin felt she was turning against them, neither was quite wrong and neither of them was quite right about their situation, but neither of them could see that, so while the sister turned herself away from the assassin and towards their ally, a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes and skin and a gentle voice...” Jacob couldn't help the little smile. Evie had been so easy to read when it came to Henry. “He would often soothe the siblings' dispute without talking either of them out of their plans, I like to think he was just glad someone had come to help at last so he wasn't going to stop them.” There was a moment of pause where Jacob was silent, as his thoughts trailed off. It must have been his own insecurities which had stopped Henry from marching directly into Starrick's office and killing him to end his own suffering. 

“What next?” Julia asked as it took him an uncharacteristic amount of time to gather his words. She had sat up and crawled closer to get a good look at his face, while he talked. 

“The assassin received a letter…” Jacob replied, thinking that he shouldn't make a bedtime story out of this, even though it was exactly what he was doing right here. “An invitation for dinner, from one of the men they were hunting, but despite knowing it wouldn't be a good idea they followed it thinking they just found themselves an easy way to deliver a blow to the man who ruled the city, because you see this man was supposed to go to prison for the crimes he had committed, but it turned out…” Jacob sighed, smiling when he saw the concern on Julia's face. “It turned out they were very much alike,” he said, pushing a few of her blonde strands back. Blonde like her mother's hair. Freckles like Evie and eyes like his own. “So they decided to work together,” he spoke softly when he saw Julia rub her eyes and could feel her sinking against him. 

“Why?” She asked, tired. “Blighters are bad.” Eyes blinking in an attempt to stay awake. 

Smiling Jacob kept carding his fingers through her hair, not attempting to keep her awake any longer when she was finally falling asleep. “Well, this one… this one was a peculiar one...” Closing his eyes Jacob tried to get comfortable. “He wasn't at all what the assassin expected...” But Julia had already fallen asleep so Jacob decided to remain silent. Stroking her hair until he was sure she wouldn't wake up when he picked her up and carried her to bed. “This one loved me,” he whispered into her hair as he pressed a kiss to her head that she had rested on his shoulder. 

_London, May 1874_

Evie's letters had always been touching, not necessarily in the way they were written, but in the way that they arrived regularly, almost as if scheduled. She thought of him and she kept doing so, and maybe the distance was making it easier to tell each other almost everything like when they had been kids. Almost, because Jacob knew for certain even she had secrets. But as long as she didn't push him, he wouldn't keep pushing her either. It was an unspoken rule between them and one that was far easier to uphold when all their words were on paper. 

The letter telling him she would come to London with Henry, and someone named Anima, caught Jacob unexpected despite all the talk about a visit in the (near) future. The excitement he could deal with– yes, but not the anxiousness that came with it. A remnant of years of being compared to and trying to outdo one another. And no amount of reasoning would make it go away. 

Of course, Evie had planned everything to a T and her letter gave a detailed report on her expected journey. It amused Jacob a lot more than he had expected, the familiarity that came with it made him feel near homesick. Not realising just how much he had missed her till it became a tangible event. 

When they had talked about her coming back, if only for a short while, it had always been in the far future for him, but then again they had been talking about it for the past two years and a little more than four had passed since she had gone. Despite all the things that had still required work at that time, her absence had given him a long-desired freedom, which had been only marginally tainted by a streak of guilt for enjoying it as much as he did, even though he knew it was unlikely she would be angry at him for it. After all their fights, all the hurt they had caused each other the distance had done their aching souls well. 

Evie arrived as she had left, in a sudden hurry with a meticulous schedule that even covered backup plans, only that there was much less luggage this time around. 

It should have been him to pick her up from the station, but missing her arrival was the lesser evil with the other being spending her first hours in London fast asleep, even though it left a small sting of regret. But now the honour had fallen to one of the assassins who had since stayed since she had left. There was only so much Jacob was capable off and picking up his sister and her small entourage after a long night of work would only have him falling asleep during the day he had wanted to spend with her for so long. So surely, she would forgive him for the few missed hours. 

“Evie!” Jacob couldn't wipe the grin off his face when he entered the bureau which had once been Henry's shop and while it's front still stood, the assassin now assigned to Whitechapel ran it a little half-heartedly. His steps had quickened the closer he had gotten to the shop and he had barged through the door running, feeling a sudden hesitation as he saw her which fought against the urge to hug her and never let go. How wrong he had been to let her go. 

“Jacob,” Evie smiled as she appeared from behind the shelf next to which the old stuffed bear still stood. Their steps moved towards one another almost a little uncertain, but there was no hesitation when she fell around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I've missed you.” 

“Missed you too,” Jacob laughed returning the hug, momentarily feeling the anxiety ease away. Feeling almost silly for it in the same breath, as he closed his eyes and allowed a moment of tranquillity to wash over him. 

She didn't let go, not quite, she moved away, but only half a step and her hand still lingered on his face. “Let me have a look at you, you have to tell me everything!” Smiling she ran a hand through his now quite short hair and along the trimmed beard. “That suits you.” Jacob couldn't help the happy grin. 

“Same to you,” he replied, nodding at her tan that made the freckles all over her face stand out. 

Then he remembered Jack. Not that he had forgotten him, he couldn't ever. It was near impossible and he waved him closer with a content smile. “C'mere,” Jacob muttered and Jack who had watched the scene from what he determined a safe distance slowly stepped forwards. Not all keen to see Evie again. 

“Jack?” Evie asked now, beckoning him forward as well. She shot Jacob a quick glance, then looked back at Jack. “You've grown so much,” she smiled. “Do you remember me? It's me, Evie.” 

Disgruntled Jack trudged forward when Jacob insisted and when he was close enough Jacob put a protective hand on his shoulder. “Yes,” was all Jack replied, staring up at her. Then he looked at Jacob, clearly unhappy with the fact that he had been dragged along to the family reunion. “Can I go now?” Impatiently he shifted his weight from one foot to another. 

Jacob couldn't help the smirk as he ruffled his hair. “Sure,” he glanced at Evie for a moment. “Remember what I told you.” That only had Jack rolling his eyes, but then he nodded and shot Evie a glance himself. 

“'Twas nice seeing you 'gain,” he mumbled in her general direction and was out the door before Jacob could grab him by the collar and remind him not to start any fights. 

Sighing Jacob regarded the empty space where Jack had been while Evie laughed. “He's just like you when you were his age, you know?” She smiled and Jacob wanted to halt time and stay in this moment, but he could only manage to reciprocate her expression wryly. 

Jacob wanted to say something but felt his mouth stuck as if his lower jaw was too heavy to draw down and give way to the words locked up in his throat. There was a time and place to talk about Jack, but it wasn't this moment if anything it was the opposite of this moment. “Let's get Henry and your friend...” Evie looked at him weird when he said that, but Jacob only raised a brow. She looked a little embarrassed but Jacob didn't know what to make of that so he let it slide for the moment. “I have a surprise for you,” he then added quite solemnly. 

“Knowing your surprises, I should bring a shovel, shouldn't I?” 

“Evie!” But then she laughed and Jacob couldn't even pretend to be offended. 

The woman who had accompanied Henry and his sister was introduced to him as Anima. She had the same dark hair as Henry, but her skin was a little darker and the amber of her eyes stood out so brilliantly Jacob had a hard time not to notice it. Her clothes marked her as one of the Brotherhood and the single hidden blade on her arm not as a master. Something about the warmth that spread over her face when she saw him coming up the stairs with Evie woke something Jacob had thought dead and buried amidst the ashes of the Alhambra, something he didn't know how to place right away, something he didn't want to name right away. But it immediately made her more charming, because he couldn't help but recognise it. 

Henry stood a little awkward to the side, but he smiled and looked genuinely pleased to see him when Jacob greeted him. Despite Evie's obvious favouritism he had never disliked him. Henry had never outright been on his side, but he also had never outright been against him, he had always found a way to support his endeavours just as much as Evie's and Jacob had always liked him for that alone. 

Anima's hand lingered on Evie's shoulder for a moment as they made their way outside, and even there she remained close by, linking arms with her, instead of Henry who walked next to him instead, just like Evie did, with Anima next to her. 

He wouldn't let them pry the surprise from his lips, but he couldn't hide the smile when both Henry and Evie expressed the wish to visit Clara during their stay. If only they knew their wish was about to be granted. When Henry asked how she had been while they had been gone, Jacob gave a generic answer meant to soothe any possible worries. Knowing that any more would give him away. They would meet her soon enough, but not in Whitechapel and not at Babylon Alley. Instead, Jacob led them to a nearby park in the City Of London. 

“You still have the train, do you?” Evie questioned as they walked down the streets. “You said you did.” 

“Of course, I wouldn't ever let it go… but it's mainly a hideout for the Rooks now, we can stop by later if you like.” 

“I would love that,” Evie agreed in happy excitement, and Henry nodded likewise eager. Anima seemed to be content to head wherever Evie did, Jacob noted. 

“I wonder if we will recognise her, she will have grown quite a bit,” Henry mused. Meanwhile, Jacob watched the crowd for a sign of Clara as they neared the park. It didn't take long for her to appear. 

She was nervous, Jacob could tell, by how her steps slowed as she was getting closer and her hands were curled up into tense fists, trying to fight the tension by flexing her fingers. Still, there was a bright smile on her face at the sight of their familiar faces. “Jacob,” she smiled at him, quite relieved. “Evie… Henry...” She almost sighed their names. “It's so good to see you.” Her eyes darted back to Jacob for comfort who had placed a hand on her back in all his pride, but likewise in an attempt to ease her anxiousness. 

“May I present, London's future guardian of the orphans,” he announced, half a grin on his face, which Clara mirrored with her bright smile. 

“Don't make it sound so formal,” she complained with a laugh on her lips, while Henry stammered the beginning of a sentence and Evie's face was lighting up. “Don't worry Jacob has been doing a good job in keeping me busy, also I should thank you for the extensive book collection I've been told… they're very interesting, you have such an exciting history – oh and Jo said to give this to you.” She fumbled for a letter and handed it to Jacob. “What?” 

“You enjoy making me look bad, don't you?” He said with a sigh. “I told you, it's your week off.” 

“And I saw Jo, she said she needed to get this to you and I said, I'll do it, I'm seeing you anyway – not work,” Clara retorted, folding her arms. She smirked, knowing she had won the argument. 

His look was of mock scolding as he took the letter, then the smile crept back onto his lips showing that most of all he was proud of her. 

“How come you decided to become an assassin, you never mentioned anything,” Henry questioned. “I would have helped you, though I am glad to see you're doing well.” 

“Oh, that wasn't my idea, it was Jacob's you should also ask him for the specifics, he explained it once I think and now whenever I ask about it he just says there was a lot of angry yelling in my name...” Clara breathed a sigh, trying to stifle a laugh. “Well, I never thought it was an option,” she admitted, tapping her chin in thought. “I was surprised when he approached me… but what he said makes sense, I need resources and a way to protect what I've been building since I joined Babylon Alley...” She tilted her head to look up at Jacob and smiled “You're doing a good job,” Clara finally declared, placing a hand on his shoulder with a kind smile. 

“Do tell me,” Evie smirked, glancing at Jacob for a moment. “How has my brother been fairing as a teacher?” 

There was a moment of silence as they walked through the park that Jacob felt took way longer to pass than it should have. “I wasn't sure what to expect...” Clara tilted her head as if weighing her thoughts. “I'd like to say better than expected but I really had no idea what I would be in for even though you did warn me...” She smiled, glancing at Jacob, her face suddenly lighting up and then she laughed. “I think I made it quite hard for you with all my question, it's likely the only reason I was allowed to borrow all the books I wanted in the first place.” Every now and then she had glanced at Jacob while talking but now directed all her attention towards Evie who led her away while the questions about her training and his teachings continued. Occasionally he could hear Anima asking something and Clara's cheerful reply, clearly enjoying the company of the two women. 

Now all he was left with was Henry as they watched them chatter and smile, and an uneasy feeling that he couldn't shake off and didn't know what to do with settled between them. “Did I… miss something?” He pointed at Anima and an emotion that he couldn't quite place flashed across Henry's face. 

“Something like that…” Meaning to change the subject Henry then asked, “how come you never mentioned anything? I would have helped you with the council and all.” 

Jacob sighed, rubbing a sore spot on his neck. “I wanted too, but when it was still the three of us, there was so, so much to do… it's been an on and off idea since forever, but either I forgot or we had too many other things on our plate there was no way to squeeze in five minutes to discuss the idea.” Five minutes which would have soon turned into hours and hours they would have poured into it when other targets had required their attention more. 

“But you know she will be called in for fieldwork at some point.” Henry's reminder twisted something in his gut uncomfortably, but still, Jacob shook his head. “She's capable, I can tell just by looking at her.” 

“No,” he said. Hoping that the council would keep its word anyway. What he had told Clara about the arrangement was the truth, but he had left out the worst of the shaky ground it stood on. With George on his side, their chances of the council keeping its word had bettered itself, quite a lot. Shielding her from it when the going got rough would be all but easy, but Jacob had promised her, even if only silently. So now all he did was laugh it off, “that's why there was this long, angry back and forth… I had to convince the council to train an assassin they wouldn't have at their disposal at the end.” 

“So she's an honorary member?” 

He shrugged. “Sort of, that was the thought anyway,” Jacob said, a content smile on his lips. “Once Clara's training is done Babylon Alley will be self-sufficient in every way, she already has more and better access to resources and we get assassins out of it, it's a win for both sides and the less she has to rely on outside sources the better for her, the children and London.” 

Henry was smiling too now. “I'm glad to see you so thoughtful... or is that your soft spot for children talking, Jacob?” 

He shook his head, but wouldn't elaborate on the topic. It was more than just orphans, it was more than just children that he cared for, it was only a continuation of what he had started when the Clinkers had become the Rooks, but he didn't know how to make sense of that for Henry. Or maybe it was a small leftover of their time together in London and the fact that Henry wasn't simply Henry now but his sister's husband. (Who didn't wear a ring, but that hardly meant anything for an assassin. There were plenty of them who wore it on a chain attached to their clothes or on a necklace instead.) His plan wasn't fully developed just yet, but it was coming along and he already had his sights on a future project. 

“Clara didn't want you to know,” he said, at last, changing the subject. “I wanted to write you, but she said she wanted it to be a surprise for when you'd visit.” 

“I assure you it was a success, I always knew she could do more so I'm truly glad for what you've done, how long have you been training her?” 

“Pretty much as long as you were away,” half a grin showed on Jacob's face. “Pretty much the moment I got the arguing done with the council I went and told her I wanted her for a student, I gave her however much time she needed to make her decision and here we are now.” He gestured towards Clara with pride. 

“And Jack?” 

And Jack. Jacob fell silent for longer than he had intended too, searching for the proper words not to make it sound as bad as it was. “Same little rascal,” Jacob tried for a grin. “I'd be less worried if he stopped trying to fight people twice his size and weight,” he admitted anyway, slouching forward when he sighed. “It's like living with a smaller, angrier version of myself… don't tell Evie I said that.” 

Henry merely smirked and nodded. “Sure.” 

It was early morning, Jacob had given Clara and Jack the time off for a week or two to spend it with Evie instead. Which meant that Jack mainly came by to be fed or stuck in a bathtub (not that he ever wanted to but Jacob didn't care much about his complaints there, a bath had never killed anyone for all he knew.) No matter his age, whenever anybody else was around Jack acted the same and most of the time he sought distance, sulking about the lack of attention he got from Jacob and eventually venting his frustration about it in a fight, never to be consoled. If it weren't for the fact that Jack so very obviously despised most human beings, Jacob would have kept him around, but this way he allowed to let it slide and let Jack get away. To do… Jacob wasn't sure he wanted to know what he was up to when he wasn't causing fights. 

It was a morning like many, where Jack had stolen in just after dawn, dragging Jacob out of bed to prepare breakfast for him. Allowing a moment of peace and quiet between them as Jack ate and Jacob smiled ever so faintly when he managed to get him to talk a little. If only for a moment everything gave the appearance of being normal and Jack was just a little boy in need of a hug and a good night's rest. But then Evie woke up and Jack wolfed down the rest of his food before he ran off again reminding Jacob of the hollow in his chest, of the pretence his life had become on a superficial level. 

She had stayed over and had fallen asleep on his couch – talking, sentence finished in a sleepy slur. Jacob watched her rub the sleep from her eyes as she settled to fill in the void Jack had left behind, then examined the table taking a moment to decide what she wanted to eat. Making a sleepy remark about his cooking skills. Not quite convinced anything he had to offer could be edible after all. Eventually, she picked up a plate and some food and started eating, by now Jacob had slouched back into his chair. 

Whenever Evie hovered over him like she had the past few days she usually wanted to talk, only that Jacob didn't quite know what it might be that she had to tell. Only that he had an idea but didn't know how to feel about that either, but he had decided he wouldn't push her. He wouldn't make her feel the same way they had made him feel back when. 

“So...” She stretched the word till it was a string of o's as she poured herself a cup of tea. “What is it?” 

“What is what?” Jacob asked, only pretending to be clueless, knowing that she would see him through anyway. Evie wasn't the only one who had plans. Like a playful warning, she spoke his name, while Jacob attempted to look as innocently clueless as possible. “No idea what you're talking about.” Softly, her boot tipped against his leg, only pushing harder when Jacob continued his farce. Laughing he fell into silence, blinking into the familiar blue of the eagle vision to look around, allowing a sigh when he didn't recognise Jack within immediate range. Focusing on Evie again he relaxed back into his chair again. “You'll see...” he said, and then, “I'll have to take you somewhere.” 

Surprised Evie raised her brows, but couldn't help the smile when she said, “is it a secret?” 

“Sort of,” Jacob laughed. “I'd rather it wouldn't be, I think I should trade it for one of yours, it's only fair, don't you think?” He smiled knowingly. Wanting to ease any worries about whether or not she could talk to him. 

“I don't have any secrets,” Evie spoke flatly. 

“Yes, you do, I can sense it.” 

“No, not a secret, merely something you don't know yet,” Evie said, placing her words with care as if to make sure she wasn't rubbing him the wrong way. 

“Will you tell me?” Jacob couldn't help but ask. Not that she had to now or today or anytime soon at all. There was no reply, but in the way she looked at him, he thought he found his answer. “In time...” He spoke the words for her, nodding and falling back into silence. “That's all right.” 

Evie scrunched up her face. “You're being weird.” But Jacob only grinned softly. 

Saying that he was hoping to make her feel at ease by sharing first wasn't a lie, but it would be a lie to say that he wasn't impatient for her to meet Julia. Without Maxwell Roth, the Strand wasn't what it had been before and if anything Jack presumably liked the Devil's Acre more, but despite all that Jacob still couldn't shake off the feeling like this was going to come back and bite him one day. 

“You're really making me nervous now, where are we going?” Evie laughed as they passed through the Strand. “You know you could just tell me if you wanted to take me to the Alhambra or the National Gallery or the park or...” 

“We're not going to any of these places,” Jacob smirked, leading her through the market. “That's too far away.” Puzzled Evie shot him a glance, but let him take the lead anyway and Jacob would have liked nothing more than to grab her hand and drag her to the door. He had told Lewis when Evie would arrive and he had sent them a note a few days prior. Smiling Jacob led her across the market and through the shopping street which led right to the corner of the building they were headed to. By now the people around here were starting to recognise his face and remember his name and Evie stared with a curious look when some of them greeted him and Jacob nodded back. 

His heart was thumping as he led her up the stairs, taking two at a time, realising that he should say something, anything, really, to prepare her. With faltering breath Jacob stood before the door, absent-mindedly listening to the voices behind it. “I wish I could say I didn't tell you because I wanted to see your stupid face,” Jacob sighed, fumbling for the key he kept hidden inside his coat. “Well, I'd have to lie to say that's not part of it.” 

The moment Jacob turned the key he could hear her steps, and by the time he was opening the door, Julia was bolting down the hallway to crash into his legs at full speed, full force with a gleeful “papa!” on her lips. Only willing to let go when she realised Jacob was going to lift her up into his arms. He couldn't help the grin that swept over his face while he muttered quiet apologies about being gone into her hair. “Look I've brought a visitor,” he said softly and Julia turned her head, without letting go off the collar of his coat. Shifting her weight in his arms to get them both more comfortable, he turned to Evie who stood at the front of the hallway, visibly flabbergasted by what had played out in front of her. “My sister Evie came all the way from India to pay us a visit,” Jacob explained, while Julia stared with curious wide eyes. 

Bringing her hands up to her mouth, curled into tiny fists she gasped, still with glee. “She's got freckles, like me!” Julia whispered with glinting eyes, and Jacob smirked. Enamoured by the colourful scarf Evie wore Julia reached first both of her hands out, but then reconsidered when she realised that meant not getting to hold onto her father. 

“Don't you want to introduce yourself to your aunt first?” Jacob reminded her gently. 

“Pretty!” Julia declared pointing at the scarf and only then looking up at Evie who smiled at her. “How d'you do, I'm Julia and I'm four, I like apple pie and playing tag”, she chirped happily and added, “and drawing.” 

Evie chuckled quietly and took the scarf off her neck. “Your freckles are just as pretty as mine, Julia,” she said as she folded the scarf, and briefly looked at Jacob as she instead of handing it to Julia draped it around her neck “My name is Evie, I live in India, it's a sunny, warm place far away from here.” Taking a step back to admire her work Evie said, “there, it's all yours now.” 

Happily, Julia patted her new scarf, fluffing it up and muttered a “thank you,” when Jacob reminded her to as she kept tugging at it. Busy as she was for the moment Jacob led his sister towards the living room where Lewis sat in silence reading a newspaper. As he heard them approach he looked up however and greeted them one by one. “Mister Frye,” he paused. “Miss...” 

“Evie Frye, the infamous sister, I'm sure my bother mentioned me.” She smirked and Lewis returned it briefly. 

“Ah… yes, he has.” That was all he said, but the tone of his voice said everything he left unspoken. “You're of course welcome to stay, Miss Frye, and come by any time you like.” Now that this place was Jacob's there was no need to be cautious. Lewis didn't say it, but Jacob could read it in the way he looked at Evie. “I see you have already acquainted yourself with the little Miss Frye.” 

“She gave me this,” Julia beamed, holding up her scarf for Lewis to see. 

He regarded her and the clothing article quietly for a moment, then said smiling, “how very beautiful… it suits you, Julia.” His glance lingered for a moment as he added thoughtfully, “the pattern looks Indian.” 

“It's where I lived for the past four years,” Evie replied nonchalantly, but friendly enough anyway. Her tone indicating that she didn't know what to make of Lewis. She had followed Jacob's example and sat next to him on the couch, while Julia only momentarily seemed to be content with just being hugged close. At least until Jacob suggested for her to pick out a game for them to play. She liked to play with marbles and sometimes memory with picture cards, she also liked hide and seek, but that was something they couldn't exactly participate in inside this flat. Not for extended periods of time. Her search for a game gave them a moment to breathe no matter how small. 

Evie breathed a sigh, wringing her hands. “How do you have a daughter?” She whispered, not angry, merely exasperated. Clearly not sure if she wanted Lewis to be a participant of this conversation. 

“I know father was terrible at explaining this to us, but I thought you knew how babies were made,” Jacob whispered back with a smirk on his lips. He couldn't help the laugh when Evie slapped him and he attempted to stop her from repeating her attack. “We'll talk later and I'll explain everything,” he then promised quietly when he saw Julia approaching, carrying a box of marbles. “For now just enjoy the company of your niece.” His eyes were almost pleading now. 

She opened her mouth, looking almost sad, but nothing came out because by then Julia was already there, so instead Evie shot him a glance that told him to better follow up on his promise of else and went on to help Julia set up her game. Practically enamoured by her. All the while Jacob watched the picture he had been trying to imagine for the past couple of years. 

Julia made sure they both were listening as she explained the rules of the game, she liked to make up her own games almost more than going by the book. The game allowed them to share a conversation, and Julia was quite interested in her aunt and India and all that Jacob had done while he hadn't been around. All while the questions between him and Evie remained unspoken. 

When they finished playing marbles, Julia called for a tea party that Evie supplied with actual tea and soon it was time for lunch and the unspoken questions were for the moment forgotten. Whenever he stayed now that Julia was a little older time seemed to fly by and Jacob dreaded the moment he had to leave again. 

__

It was late afternoon when he brought Evie back, Julia had cried and demanded they stayed and Jacob had promised to return later to tuck her into bed. She had accompanied them downstairs and a while down the street, skipping along the pavement each of them holding one of her hands. “I'm sorry I have to go, Jube,” Jacob had told her quietly and with a heavy heart as Julia had sulked and complained and sniffled. It was unfair and they both knew it, but there was no way around it. Not with Jack ready to murder anyone and anything that took Jacob's attention from him. 

__

He didn't need Evie to take his hand and gently lead him away, but it was nice having her, Jacob thought. He waited till they were out of earshot, several blocks away before he spoke, all the while painfully aware of how quiet Evie remained. Back then she would have immediately bombarded him with questions, Jacob knew. He blinked, then smiled. “Thank you.” 

__

“What for?” Evie frowned. 

__

“For not hounding me with questions the first chance you get, even though you want to,” Jacob replied. He could see it on her face, how she was burning to ask holes into him. “Shoot,” he breathed a quiet laugh. “I just didn't want to have that conversation with Jube present.” He had taken to calling her that because it sounded cute and it fit her and Julia liked the nickname, otherwise he would have changed it or used none at all. And now it always seemed to make Evie smile ever so faintly. 

__

Opening her mouth Evie needed to think for a moment, seemingly reconsidering all the questions she had in mind, she chose a statement instead. “She's four.” Immediately insinuating that that was the exact amount of years she had been gone with her tone as her eyes were boring holes into him. 

__

“Err...” Jacob couldn't help the nervous laugh. “Yes, her birthday is the third of February, so er”, quietly Jacob skipped back and forth between the numbers, using his fingers for help, “two months before you went away.” That was all she allowed him to get out. 

__

“I was in London, you were going to be a father, and you had the gall to not let me know?! Jacob! How could you?” The way she said it, it sounded like a serious offence and maybe it was considering she was his only sister. “What makes you think I wouldn't have wanted to know about her? And what's with… why can't your own daughter stay with you, you don't need to do that to keep her away from the Assassins, you've always hated how father left us al–” 

__

“I know!” Jacob whirled around in a flash of anger, but the words were stuck in his throat when he saw her start crying and sudden concern swept away all the frustration he had previously felt. “What's wrong?!” Heaving a shaky breath Evie didn't even seem to be aware that anything was in fact wrong. “You're crying...” And Jacob brought a hand up to her face to wipe away warm, heavy tears that were silently streaming down her face. 

__

“I'm not–” She stammered, brought a hand up to her face and cursed. Seeing her so vulnerable all of a sudden after not seeing her for so very long made her pain his own in that very moment. They had always felt for each other, never literally, that wasn't even close to possible, so maybe it was just the distance and not seeing each in forever that made him hurt, knowing that she did. 

__

What hurt, even more, was that her first instinct was to hide and pretend like nothing was wrong. Only that she couldn't. Evie couldn't stop crying and Jacob didn't know what to do other than gather her close and allow her to cry into shoulder like she had so many times before, muttering soothing nothings into her hair. 

__

Evie didn't explain herself, but she allowed him to bring her home, or as close as the place she stayed at could get to that. Five years back he surely would have demanded to know what was going on, but even though he felt the questions burning in the back of his throat just like Evie had previously he didn't burden her with them. Quietly they came through the door, where sure enough Anima had waited, shooting him a glare when she saw Evie crying. 

__

“What happened?” She demanded coolly. 

__

“I don't know...” Jacob replied helplessly. “I just… I don't know.” Unwilling he let her go, still allowing it and watching her lean against Anima. Still, he kept a hand on Evie's back, not knowing what else to do with himself. He wanted to stay with her oh so desperately, but he felt like a fifth wheel on a carriage, like an intruder and that alone made him taste bile. “Do you want me to stay?” Evie was shaking her head even before he was halfway through with his question. 

__

“You go back,” she whispered. “You stay with your daughter.” She pressed her lips together and a strength he hadn't witnessed in her before it hardened the lines on her face. It was then that Jacob knew that he shouldn't argue with her. 

__

So he told her to come find him when he didn't turn up again later, to find him when she felt ready to talk, and he closed the distance between them and kissed her hair. Muttering more soothing nothings before he managed to tear himself away from her. Something had changed about the way Anima looked at him when Evie had said daughter, but there was no space in his head to deal with that now. Her actions around Evie always, always stirred that little demon inside of him that remembered all and everything about Maxwell. All the little things that he couldn't deal with if he wanted to keep going about his day. Even worse, couldn't tell anyone about. 

__

Jacob's thoughts lingered on Anima as he left, lingered on the way she had looked at Evie, the way Evie had leaned against her, on Henry who didn't stay with them and they gnawed and gnawed at his insides, so much that Jacob could think of little else but Maxwell. Even though they had virtually nothing in common. 

__

Just this once Jacob found he was glad that Julia liked the little tale he had spun about himself and Maxwell. It was a kinder version of reality, one where nobody had to die. One where no hearts were broken and children endangered, one that could have never been reality. But one that could have healed his heart, like Maxwell had promised to without any words. 

__

Reality, Jacob had decided, could crawl in slowly if at all. Perhaps if Julia still liked the story in three or four years he could adjust it a little. Although it did make him feel a little awkward knowing that Lewis listened in on him, but the other simply complimented his storytelling skills when Jacob addressed the matter. That was another matter to address which he kept pushing off for way too long by now. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be honest with me. Who guessed the right speaker of the preview line from last time? Who thought it was George? Or Freddy maybe? Anyhow, we've got Evie back so expect her to stick around for a while cause the twins got things to work though!  
> I hope you guys like Anima, cause I've never been more furious when misspelling a name and I've been dying inside each time I get it wrong.
> 
> Preview for December 2nd: »“Then I'm sure Miss Attaway's mysterious murder _cannot_ be chalked up to you...” Maxwell looked up at him from above the edge of the papers he was holding.«


	8. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say. There is so much going on in this chapter. You're not yet getting an answer as to why Evie cried, so you just let that simmer and sit till we get there and make your own guesses. She and Jacob do talk about lots of things though. Some old stuff. Some that's uh happening. Did you all miss George? Did you think we were done with him? No, we're not. What makes you think that.
> 
> Somehow I can't fix the double spacing I usually have in between segments in the last chapter, so, for now, it's going to stay that way till I figure out why it's not working.

_London, May 1874_

_Don't you dare not to._ Evie hadn't said it, but Jacob had gathered the words nonetheless from her undertone and he would have to lie to say that he hadn't gladly stayed with Julia till she had fallen asleep and then some more. The nights that he spent at Maxwell's place had become so rare that they were no more than a hazy memory now. Filled with unaddressed emotions that he was hesitant to name not because they frightened him, but because they made his actions so much worse whenever he did. Well aware that it wasn't the same that he felt for Valerie or her brother, Hiram, but George was somehow a close call and Jacob didn't know what to do with that information at all.

He had picked Evie up and decided to bring her to the Kenway mansion which he had initially wanted to repurpose as one of their hideouts, but then decided to rent it out after it had been given a thorough sweep. They had cleaned out the hidden basement and anything of value to the Assassins. The money it had brought them was long gone by now but had been direly needed. For a while, several historians had populated the place, intrigued by the pirate it had once belonged to and Jacob had been happy to have them. They had been an interesting bunch, quite happy with their find, but Jacob couldn't say what had become of them. For another while, a family of five had lived here, but at the moment it was empty of all life.

“I thought you would have made it one of our hideouts...” Evie said quietly as they entered through the front door. “Wasn't that the plan?”

“It was, but then I realised it's too obvious and I decided to rent the place, had some pretty interesting residents over the past years but right now nobody seems to want to have it...” Jacob explained. “I thought about selling it, but… doesn't feel right to let anyone else have it.” Evie nodded, giving a quiet sound of agreement, as he went on to tell her about its former residents.

Silently Evie listened, not saying anything as they ascended the stairs, their footsteps in unison. There was a question on her lips that remained unspoken but was answered anyway when Jacob caught her thoughtful gaze and replied softly, “I thought you would like to see it.”

“I do, thank you.” Evie closed her eyes and nodded quietly, as the silence stretched on between them. “Are you going to answer my questions, or have you forgotten them… it's been some days I'm not so sure.” She attempted a smirk, but it wasn't as devilish as Jacob knew it could be.

“I haven't...” He admitted, with a gentle smile. “I always remember what you tell me.”

“Oh, is that so? Must have been on another plane of existence that you actually act like it then.”

“Never said I acted like it,” Jacob reminded her, raising a finger and both of them grinned for a moment. “I… thought about how I'm going to answer these questions the past four years, there's no way I would forget them...” He had to admit that much in front of her. “I...” Jacob breathed a sigh and glanced away. “Val's her mother, let's start with that,” he then decided only to earn a confused look from Evie. “Oh you remember her, shorter than you and me, pretty, blonde hair, seemingly can't shut her mouth, we met her when the Disraelis forced us to attend one of their dinner parties.”

Finally, it clicked, but instead of immediately reprimanding him all she did was frown. Unfortunately, that did the opposite of making Jacob feel secure. “Really?” Evie said, visibly mulling over the thought. “She did invite you...” Her voice trailed off. Seemingly realising how the chain of events must have played out.

“She did and that went as awkward as expected,” Jacob mused, “but…” He shrugged. “Here we are now, child and all, I just wish I could have Julia stay with her instead of leaving her all alone with Lewis of all people, not that he's bad company, just...” He couldn't tell her that he had Maxwell Roth's former handymen babysit his daughter, could he? “Although, she does seem fond of him.” Jacob had to admit with a smile. “Treats her like a princess.”

“Then why is she not with her mother? Why isn't she with you?” Evie demanded, frowning again. “I don't see any reason against it and you don't seem like you don't want her to become an assassin one day.”

“Because I horned the first fiancé, so I'm pretty sure her husband now would hate me on sight if he realised that's her daughter.” There was no reason to lie about it now. Besides, it hadn't been his idea to keep the child.

“You what.” Evie's jaw visibly dropped. “No, you didn't.”

Jacob wanted to laugh, felt the start of his creep up the back of his throat, but only shrugged nonchalantly. “That was the deal, horned fiancé, no marriage, I get the kid… sort of, wasn't the deal when the whole thing started but turned into that...” He could have told her, or at least that's what her expression told him. “I wanted to tell you… I just didn't know how and…” Shaking his head Jacob led her along the railing. Of all the things important he didn't know how to tell her at least one of them. Not anymore. Not even after being able to spend their time apart to better their relationship through the letters they had shared. “I didn't want you to think I wasn't taking our work seriously… I just needed some time off to keep me sane every now and then...” Val had helped with that tremendously.

“Please spare me the details of that relationship...” Evie sighed, rubbing her temple. “Whatever it is you have or had going on with her mother… figure it out for the sake of your daughter.” There was an unexpected sharpness to her words. “She deserves the truth, doesn't she? You always wanted that for yourself.” The sharpness hadn't left her words, but they lacked the expected accusation.

Part of him wanted to explain everything from beginning to end, but when Jacob looked at Evie he could see that she was done with the topic for the moment so he decided against it. So instead of explaining his actions, he told her, “I went to see her, just once, when Jube started asking about her...” Slowly Evie's glance regarded him. Jacob bit his lip. “She didn't want to see her.” His expression must have betrayed him for the truth because Evie's expression grew hard and she looked away. “She doesn't even care.” Evie nodded, still looking away.

“It looks so bleak without all of Edward's artefacts.” Evie sighed after a while meaning to change the subject. “Now tell me, how come you don't live with your daughter? That place wasn't yours, it reeked of… _not you_.” Evie pulled a face, unhappy that she couldn't pinpoint her experience any better.

“Jack.” Jacob had expected the answer to be much harder than it felt when the word came across his lips. “And you wouldn't look at me like that if you'd ever had to drag him from one of his fights – you didn't have to pull a partial ear from his teeth and feel guilty at the relief you felt when you realised he went up against a teenager or an adult and not a child his own age because I don't want to know how that fight would have ended, he doesn't do well with children Evie, you know that, hell he doesn't do well with anybody, what was I supposed to do?”

“Not lock her up like Rapunzel?!” Evie shot back. “Not have a child in the first place!”

“She's not– Jack would mangle her! I can't let that happen,” Jacob had swerved to walk in front of her now as Evie's steps grew surer, more pointedly, almost chasing him now. It came as natural as ever as if the last four years didn't matter, but it wasn't a playful game of tag. It was a game of catch and their frustrations made it an emotional tug-of-war, that would have had them wrestling if they had given in to the pull of their itching fingers. But instead of doing so they halted, mid-step almost at the end of the railing which circled the inside of the top hallway, close to where a door led down another corridor with more doors.

Evie didn't need to say anything to get her point across, her expression and posture did all the work and it made falling back into old habits so much easier than Jacob wanted to. Snapping at her would have relieved his frustration like it always did, but it would have gotten them nowhere like it always did. The air bristled with unspoken words and pent-up emotions between them, but there was no use giving in except for the familiarity they would gain from it.

To his surprise, it was Evie who broke the spell when she gathered herself with a deep breath and said, “I think… I'm just upset that you didn't tell me, it just makes me realise how far apart we drifted in those first two months, first over our views and later unwillingly through work, to think that… you didn't think you could tell me.” Shaking her head she brought both hands up to her face to run them over it, more tired than exasperated. “It always...” Her mouth stood open for another moment, but she kept the words to herself. Leaving Jacob to wonder what she might have said.

“Well that makes two of us,” Jacob declared nonchalantly once he was sure she was done talking. Not quite trusting the peace that he was offered, but unable to refuse it when he looked into her eyes. Something had happened, something which had dulled their light. “Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me?” He didn't want to sound like he was reminding her, but he was curious. Smiling when she placed her hands in his open palms, pulling her just a little bit closer. “Father would be so proud of us for not loudly sharing every minute detail of our lives with each other,” Jacob smirked.

“Oh, what does father know,” Evie breathed a laugh and patted his arms in comfort. “Remember those dancing lessons he wanted to give us and halfway through decided it was too awkward for us to dance with each other...” Trailing off she grasped his hand, tugging at his arm so they would continue their way through the way. “I'll tell you, but let's finish this little tour first, this place makes me feel so glum.”

“We can stop right now if you like...”

“No, it's nice to see that you're able to keep things intact.” She remarked quite dry.

“Harsh words, Evie, harsh words.”

Several of the items left behind by the previous rentees caught Evie's interest. Despite not having visited the place for over four years she spotted where a carpet had been exchanged or added, a painting or blanket left behind, or the books neglected and forgotten by their previous owners.

“Of course you kept the piano...” Evie smiled and shook her head, scrutinising him for a moment with a look that made Jacob shrug open-armed.

“I wasn't sure whether or not it should stay, but I figured a hidden basement isn't out of the ordinary for a pirate,” he explained himself. “If… you had stayed…” There was no need to finish his sentence, she understood him perfectly well either way.

“Hell no!” Evie shot back. “You know I hated the piano lessons!”

“Did you?” Jacob inquired, teasing. “I recall them as quite some fun.”

“Because it was easy for you,” she huffed and folded her arms with a frown when Jacob closed some of the distance between them. Laughing as if remembering something funny, her gaze drifted off. “All right they were fun with you around,” she admitted. “I really forgot about that...” Her voice had grown soft and quiet, but she was smiling now. Remembering all those hours they had spent at the piano. Trying to play together, and if not that Jacob had been trying to amuse her by adding his renditions of the songs he's learnt in the factories and bars to make her laugh.

“Did you?” His expression asked with raised brows and she looked so apologetically that it was hard to stay mad at her. “Need another reminder?” Jacob laughed as he took her hands, humming along to the first tune that came to mind. “ _Darling, down and down I go, round and round I go_ ,” Jacob tugged her into a little dance. “ _In a spin, loving the spin that I'm in… under that old black magic called love._ ”

A girlish giggle escaped Evie's lips, that made the ghosts of their past selves seem so much more alive. A pair of eleven-year-old children stumbling about the empty living room floor in an attempt to learn the steps of a dance, laughing their way through it. Graciously, she allowed him to carry her along to the tune. “You're such a fool.” She had closed her eyes, humming the remaining chords which would end the song as they came to a halt. When she opened them again her eyes were kindly reprimanding him, reminding him how they were too old for shenanigans like this. Still, she didn't let go, seemingly content in their situation.

Feeling like someone had indeed put him under a spell Jacob couldn't bring himself to let go. Despite telling his hands, they wouldn't move and his feet, filled with lead, were now impossible to lift. He knew better, and so did she, but neither of them thought at all at this moment, when he pulled her close. Really close and kissed her forehead, which made Evie laugh through her nose, but she leaned into the touch. Brushing his thumbs across her cheeks when he cupped her face to have a better look at the smile she displayed.

It was no more than a brief touch of his lips against hers. Just like when they had been quite small still and kissing each other's faces out of joy or to cheer the other up had only held the most innocent meaning. Jacob couldn't quite say what this one held for him, whether he had sought to comfort or find comfort or just had allowed the moment to carry him and it meant nothing, nothing at all because she was his sister and just that. Always just his sister.

“I'm so sorry!” – “I have a girlfriend!” They spoke in unison only to fall into stunned silence.

Even the voice inside Jacob's head which had previously been losing it had shut up, and in the quiet he thought he could hear his own heart thumping, jumping up to the back of his throat. Clogging it, making it unable for him to speak. In silence and stuttered attempts at making words they untangled themselves from the invisible cords holding them close and parting their ways, 

Never had he wondered what it was like or had wanted to kiss Evie. And now he knew, and now he had. That old black magic hadn't taken hold of him, but Jacob thought it was still a pretty good description of what had happened. And despite it being black magic it was a different one than what he had felt for Maxwell. And despite that it was still black magic so Jacob went to bed with the taste of her lips that night, feeling ever closer to and further from Evie than ever before.

It would be another two days till they saw each other again, one of them spent with Jack for the most part and the other partially with Clara, Henry and brooding over work that he had meant to postpone, but like always it kept him together when nothing else did.

Neither of them had planned it, so it was entirely by chance that they met. She had detached herself from Anima to pay Julia a visit while leaving Anima to explore the Strand in the meantime. And since Jacob had had the exact same idea they had been bound to run into each other.

Hesitating they stopped, made sure to keep their distance this time, while Evie scrutinised him and Jacob merely looked at her with a mix of question and wonder. “We should talk,” she said after a moment of deliberate silence. “And you're going to talk first.” The way she said it, it made a quiet demand that Jacob didn't dare to object.

By raising his arms Jacob showed his defeat and followed her to a nearby pub, where they sat in a corner and ordered mediocre beer. “I didn't mean to,” Jacob sighed, almost a little too defensive when he let himself fall into the chair across from her. “It just happened, I don't know it was stupid, I didn't mean anything by it, I never meant to.”

“But you did kiss me,” Evie pointed out sharp and quiet not to raise any attention to them. A little too sharp. Making Jacob wonder if it was meant to question the truth in his words.

Faltering Jacob made a confused sound. “But it didn't– doesn't mean _anything!_ ” He sighed, feeling frustration sneak its way into the back of his mind. “I just… you… this all...” Once again he sighed, slumping forward to bury his head in his hands. “It's a thing that happened – no more,” Jacob muttered, running both hands slowly down his face. He folded them on the table. “I'm sorry I kissed you, that wasn't supposed to happen.”

All the while he had spoken, Evie had watched him thoughtfully, making him more nervous than anything. And then she waited some more as if to make sure there weren't any more words he had to say on the subject. “I know.” She spoke so quiet Jacob would have almost missed it. “I believe you, but I think it should never happen again.” Her words had been chosen with delicate care and the look in her eyes was warned him not to push his luck.

“It won't,” Jacob reassured her, nodding to himself. Wondering who he was ultimately trying to calm here. It might just as well have been himself. But his rueful eyes soon shifted towards the quiet demand of an explanation. “Evie…” Her name was no more than a gentle nudge but more than enough to make her talk.

Her first response was to throw her hands up. “Don't act like I never wanted to tell you! I did! I even wanted to write you, it just… felt wrong...” Frustrated now Evie sighed, folding her arms on the table, just like him.

Some topics just weren't made to be written out in letters. They demanded facial expressions and vocal cords to take them seriously, not flimsy, fancy words and alliterations. Out of all the hundreds of words he had written her, there were still so many which had never made it to the page. Some of them which might come loose during her time in London, others in India. That was the other thing she had mentioned early on and Jacob was looking forward to, but no matter now. They wouldn't go to India tomorrow.

Smiling Evie lowered her head when she recognised the understanding in his expression, seeming somewhat surprised but all the more glad for it. “You're not…” She paused, thinking over her words. “This is not what I expected...” Again her words halted, unsure how to proceed, like if all the conversations in her head didn't match up with the one happening right at this moment.

“You tend to forget that I'm on your side, sweet sister,” Jacob scolded her softly. “Always will be, always have been, so if that woman is the reason you're happy, then I'm all for it.” A tinge of red was tinting Evie's cheeks, but she smiled and muttered a “thank you.” Jacob couldn't help the small wave of relief which washed over him as he watched her. Relief for the fact that he was more certain now that he could talk to her, although he had never thought it to be a problem to her that Maxwell was a man. Which truly paled in comparison to all else she would have to be upset about. “We were taught better than that.” Relief for knowing what was on her mind now when she didn't know what to say.

When the silence had stretched comfortably over them and Jacob had leaned back, shoving his legs towards hers and their boots entangled, it was Evie who first broke the quiet. Tapping her boot against his leg to gain his attention, Jacob made a low sound to say that she should keep talking. “You're so awfully understanding I can't help but wonder, have you ever been with a man?”

“Are you honestly comparing this to our squabble over the Pieces of Eden?” Jacob frowned, upset about her insinuation that he wouldn't ever show understanding or care for her or her interests. “I meant that, when I said I wanted to hit you where it hurts,” he was sounding more bitter now than he had intended to. “That's all it was.”

Meaning to take his mind off the hurt Evie teased, “my question still stands, oh brother mine.”

Out of all the things she might have expected Jacob could see that it wasn't the forlorn expression that swept across his face in that instant. For a brief silly moment Jacob thought he could simply tell her no, then she would be none the wiser and he wouldn't ever have to talk about it with her. No would be so easy. No would be expected. No would make Maxwell into a never-ever-happened because Lewis wasn't going to talk about what had happened to him unless Jacob brought it up. For a brief silly moment, Jacob thought he might as well skip Maxwell. Knowing that he never could.

This wasn't the way he had planned it, the way he had imagined this conversation to even start for him. Not the way he wanted to talk about it when he hadn't planned to and didn't even know where to begin. Averting his eyes Jacob shrugged awkwardly, not wanting to give a clear yes and prompting more questions. “I… don't want to talk about it… not right now,” Jacob replied quietly, keeping his eyes from her view so she wouldn't see the hollow ache or the weariness or the anger he'd kept locked away from her for so long.

That also went against Evie's expectations, he could see that when his eyes briefly scanned her face and she caught a glimpse of what he had been trying to hide. Her mouth opened, then closed. Words formed, stuttered, halted, began anew only to stop again. Her mouth opened and closed again. Any other time Jacob would have laughed how so few and simple words, barely a meaningful confession had rendered her speechless. But his mouth felt full of ash instead of words when he thought about telling her, right here and right now. And he feared if he opened it now it would all spill like vomit without control.

“Did you tell her?” He asked instead. Her meaning Anima. Tell her meaning about Julia.

“Not a lot.” She said and Jacob could only nod, trying to focus on their conversation. “Are you… not going to ask what happened?” Meaning between her and Henry, but Jacob only shook his head.

“You don't have to if you don't feel like it… not right now, that's only fair.” This time it was Evie who nodded along.

Out of words and out of energy to tackle whatever else lay unspoken between them now they both slouched back till Anima found them and lifted their mood with the cake she brought along.

 

_London, August 1874_

Every time she was around Jacob couldn't help but to stare at them every so often. Now that he knew it was more obvious, clearer but still conjuring up waking ghosts he'd rather forget. Nothing on earth was going to bring Maxwell back and it was his own damned fault. Nothing on earth could make the factory incident right either, but over the years it had stopped quenching his guilt whenever it rose back to memory, making him taste bile instead.

The first one to exclaim the wish to visit Crawley had been Henry, in a quiet conversation over tea and breakfast and the files Jacob had been working on. Some cases from Scotland Yard that no sergeant had been able to crack, so Freddy had kindly delivered them to him. Surprised Jacob had looked up, while Henry had said he wanted to talk things out with George.

Just hours after their arrival Evie had mentioned she wanted to have a separate place, now in retrospect that made a lot more sense to Jacob who just imagined being cooped up with Maxwell and Lewis, or Valérie and Hiram at the same time. Now it was just Henry who shared the place with the Assassin meaning to keep Whitechapel in check. They seemed to get along from the way Henry talked about them.

“Evie will want to come too,” Jacob had replied, carefully watching his face. “There's no use in splitting the visit unless you really can't stand being around each other, she didn't exactly tell me what happened...” Part of him hoped Henry would. By now he was getting curious.

“I think it would be better if she did so herself.” Came the answer just as thoughtful.

How awfully considerate this man was. It was almost infuriating.

Nodding Jacob frowned at the image in front of him, wondering once again what had caused the rift. “I won't have to strangle you, do I?”

“I hope not,” Henry smiled apologetically. Whatever for Jacob couldn't tell. “I know we were never particularly close, but I do consider you my friend, Jacob.”

Involuntarily a broad smile spread on Jacob's lips. “You're not so bad yourself, I have to give you credit for never patronising me or my work.”

“Evie was doing an expert job at that,” Henry said flatly.

“Didn't she?” Jacob mused with a crooked grin. “I'll ask her later then.”

Of course, Evie wanted to go, if only to show Anima around town and point out all her favourite places, the house they had lived in, talk to George and maybe visit their father's grave. It surprised him a little that Henry had managed to beat her to it given how much more she seemed to look forward to it. “You should take Julia with you, you know,” she had said and Jacob had frowned. As much as he hated to admit it, but Evie, of course, was right.

“Fine,” Jacob had grumbled at last. “But you figure out how we do that, I really don't want to draw any attention to her or me, the four of us will already be doing enough for that.” Despite the fact that he didn't like the arrangement Jack had forced him into, Jacob had to agree that it kept the Templars off Julia's back quite nicely.

Evie smiled. “Just let that Lewis guy bring her to Crawley, you just make sure to let her know we're all going there, shouldn't be a problem then, should it?” But Jacob was drawing out the undecided sound he made. For all that he knew George could be better informed about Maxwell Roth than her and recognise Lewis. Because either Evie had chosen to ignore his former occupation, which was unlikely, or she hadn't known, which was also unlikely, but it was likely that she hadn't thought Lewis to be seriously involved in one way or another with Maxwell Roth. So there was this tiny stupid chance now that George would know, however improbable it was in the first place.

As he considered his options, Jacob considered asking Clara, only to have his mood drop when he realised that he couldn't. “Something wrong?” Evie asked, but Jacob shook his head, then suggesting her and Anima should take Julia along. Clara would have to sit this one out, unfortunately.

 

_Crawley, September 1874_

So it was Henry and Evie and Anima and him, and Julia playing with one of her dolls unwilling to sit anywhere else but on his lap for the duration of the train ride. Henry took the news in stride and eyed Julia just as curiously as she eyed him, but both of them seemed to warm up to each other quickly enough. Julia was an unquestioned delight to be around and seemingly fond of all the attention everyone around her gave her. Evie seemed practically enchanted by her and Jacob couldn't quite take his eyes off of her for it.

It was amusing to watch George's reaction when one of his workers called that he had visitors because it wasn't the least of what he had expected. Evie and Jacob stood with Julia holding onto their hands, swinging between them and busying herself by inspecting everything around her. Although he now lifted her into his arms so Evie could pull George into a surprise hug.

“You will have to stop doing that you'll give me a heart attack one day,” he groaned, meaning Jacob as he returned Evie's hug.

“Never thought I'd be glad to see you again,” Evie joked softly when she broke the hug. “I think it's high time you and Henry talked,” she then added as stern as she possibly could, making her voice lower for the purpose of sounding commanding.

George's eyes flicked over towards Henry who gave him a brief smile as he folded his arms. “Yeah… I guess… I think it's time,” he replied, pressing his lips into a thin white line. “It's good to see you,” he then said, his eyes slowly shifting from Henry back to Evie. Then to Anima who had moved closer to Evie again. “And who're you?”

“My name is Anima,” her eyes flicked back to Jacob, then to Evie, then back to George. She had asked them about it, wanting to hear both of their opinions. Better safe than sorry they had all agreed upon. “A dear friend of Evie's… pleased to meet you.” And with that, she had linked her arm into Evie's and pulled her closer. Not at all friend like, but she didn't seem to care what conclusions George would draw from that.

George surely would have addressed him now Jacob knew, but instead, he had sat Julia back onto her feet to allow her to introduce herself to George because she had insisted on being put down and doing so herself. So now she was tugging at his pants, demanding attention. “Nice to meet you, my name's Julia, I'm this old,” she held up four fingers, which made George raise his eyebrows and glance first at Evie then Jacob when Evie only nodded towards him. Sighing a breath Jacob stepped closer, knowing that he would have a lot to answer for once the shock had settled. All the while Julia chattered on like a little bird, telling George about all the things she liked to do and play and for a brief moment Jacob remembered all the times Evie and him had done the same when they had been no more than a little older than Julia. George certainly didn't look like he minded, engaging in a short conversation with her.

“C'mere Jube,” Jacob nudged her as he took her hand. “I think uncle George is a little overwhelmed.” He smirked when he could see reality dawning on George's face.

Without many words, it was agreed upon by all of them to find a quiet place to talk, where Henry and George exchanged a few apologies and arguments before they settled their dispute for the moment. But only because he remembered to reprimand Evie for basically disappearing into thin air (meaning India.) Julia stayed with them until some of the children George had been training were drawn close by their conversations and curiously peeked their heads through doors and windows. Jacob let her run off to play, keeping an eye on her golden hue which shimmered through the mill's walls. Happy to see that Clara's children didn't mind playing with someone much younger than them.

Jacob would have liked Evie to stay. The words were on his tongue, making it heavier than he had thought possible, but Evie clearly preferred to show Anima the house they had grown up in than staying and keeping George company. Only that this time, Jacob didn't feel confident enough to follow her, but this time she wasn't alone either so that made it easier for him to let her go anyway. It was Henry who stayed with him and George and Julia and the other children and workers. There wasn't anyone present who didn't in some way belong to the Brotherhood. It would be too hard to keep the pretence up when training so many, but George had waved all concerns off. Quite determined to take his job more than seriously.

Jacob felt like Evie had left him to make a regrettable decision when she left him alone with George and Henry, having to lie when saying he didn't know what kind of regrettable decision this would turn out to be. With most of the rooms taken by the children, George had them share one. So Jacob was only glad that Julia had no complaints about sharing a bed with her father, it was rare enough that they slept in the same place in the first place. Henry had offered to take the couch, but George had insisted – maybe as a matter of prudence, Jacob could hardly blame him for that.

For a long while now Jacob slept well. The fire and smoke didn't disturb his dreams anymore when they came and eventually they would always come and fill his lungs with ash, but not tonight. Tonight it wasn't Maxwell, and not their father either else Jacob was sure he would have felt the same strange tug at his strings like six years ago. Tonight he should have been able to sleep just fine. Only that he couldn't. Not even with Julia curled up at his side, a small ball of warmth, sleeping soundly. Absent-mindedly Jacob was carding his fingers through her hair. At first, he had tried to talk to Henry, who had proven to be just as fast asleep. So he had given up, sulking at first, only that he was too tired now, wishing for sleep to come. Wishing for a whole lot more than that, but being unable to focus.

His body moved almost on its own when he kissed Julia's head and quietly snuck across the wooden floor. Evie surely would have heard him, but neither Henry nor Julia woke up as Jacob tiptoed out into the hallway. There was a good chance George was still awake, he was always awake. Jacob was able to count all the times he had actually seen him sleep on one hand – part of the reason George couldn't be human. At least that much Evie and him had figured as children. Adulthood hadn't exactly convinced him of the opposite, however.

Considering to knock, Jacob nudged the door open. “Do you ever sleep?” He mused, almost smiling not being able to pry himself from the wooden frame.

“No,” George replied flatly without looking up from his book. It had to be a lie, but Jacob was almost inclined to believe it anyway.

“What are you reading?” It was a question meant to stall time. To maybe make him change his mind while he waited for the answer, even though Jacob knew himself better than that.

“Historic accounts about Connor Kenway...” He muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “These damn kids keep asking holes into me… What do you want?”

“Can I come in?” Uneasy Jacob shifted his weight from one foot to another and back.

“I don't see what's stopping you...” George replied, as he briefly glanced up, then looked back at the page he had been reading.

Casually Jacob took a step forward, balancing himself along an invisible line as he watched George mark the page he had been reading and put his book aside. This was harder sober than he had imagined. “I think I might do something terribly stupid again,” Jacob said, crawling into his bed.

“You wouldn't be here if you hadn't made up your mind already,” came the gentle chiding so unlike George. Whose eyes followed Jacob's fingers as he licked them and snuffed out the single candle giving barely enough light to read. This was easier in the dark when Jacob couldn't see his face clearly. Didn't have to face the reality of their situation.

Leaning over him Jacob kissed him, feeling cold and hollow. One day George would have to tell him why he let him take all of his despair out on him when it so obviously wasn't about him. Just not tonight.

His mind was never quite convinced till they kissed that it wasn't the same, that the familiarity which would have eased the pain couldn't be found with George. That to think so was silly to begin with.

The touch of George's hands when they slipped beneath his clothes brought all the wrong thoughts back to surface, of all the innocent ways they had touched him throughout the years. Ruffling his hair as a child, patting him on the shoulder when he was older, leaving a bitter aftertaste, a bone-drenching feeling that it was wrong on so many levels what they were doing here. (And yet he didn't want to stop.) It made him wonder what George thought of when his palms stole across his skin. If it served as a reminder that he wasn't a little boy anymore. Summoning the same particular feel of wrong aching with every move of his body, the only thing that felt right about this moment. How wrong it seemed. And how much Jacob thought it was well deserved.

Shuddering breaths and gritted teeth, that felt right too. Tenderness wasn't for them and it showed in the marks they left on each other. Teeth and nails scraping on skin, moans lost against the heat of each other's skin, not meaning to wake up anyone else. Jacob didn't realise he was tasting blood from a tear on his lip till it all was over.

He should have gotten up and returned to Julia and Henry without another word, but his body felt heavy with regret and tired from staying awake, tired from having sex. This wasn't what this was supposed to be about for them, Jacob understood that perfectly well, still he lay down and sucked his lip in to still the bleeding. George's bed was cramped and narrow with two people occupying it, forcing the two of them uncomfortably close together.

“You should go back to your daughter,” George said flatly. There was so little emotion in his voice that Jacob briefly wondered if he had spent it all on him so that now there was nothing left.

“She won't even notice I'm gone.” Lewis had assured him she slept through the night but Jacob knew better than to take his word on that for a place she wasn't familiar with. It was a flimsy excuse either way. He wanted to ask why, but the questioned remained stuck in his throat, while George seemed to attempt to lull him to sleep by carding his fingers through his hair and Jacob was almost inclined to take it if weren't for the many problems it would cause if anyone found them. Or maybe it had been to make him more amiable.

“Maxine or Maxton?” George had seemed so deep in thought that Jacob had started considering getting up and getting out, just to escape any upcoming conversation.

“What?” Jacob couldn't help but to croak that word.

“There's someone with the name Max on your mind, so, which one is it – Maxine or Maxton?” There was none of the expected reproach in his voice. It almost sounded gentle now, as if George had found a little stash of emotions after all. He didn't sound upset either, or particularly curious. Although George seemed to be just that when he thought it was this important to ask.

Closing his eyes Jacob made an attempt to hide his face in George's shoulder, biting down on the skin below his lip. “Don't know what you're talking about,” Jacob wanted to say but couldn't manage to get a word out. Wondering if George could feel the heat on his face pressed against his shoulder. Probably, Jacob thought.

A coarse sound sat in the back of his throat that wasn't so easy to ignore in the dead of the night when he had scratched the old wounds raw till they bled because only then they could heal like they should, like bones that had to be rebroken to be set right after all. And in the dead of the night with the hurt clawing at his insides he couldn't stop the tears that came. Slowly at first, so slow he didn't even realise they had forced their way out. The tears rolled quietly, teeth digging down hard in the skin below his lip, Jacob wanted nothing more but for them to stop. Maxwell didn't deserve his tears and George didn't need to witness that he had them for him anyway.

There wasn't any point in pretending it wasn't happening however, George had seen him cry his eyes out plenty of times when he had been a child. There wasn't any point in not letting it out when they would forget about it all when the morning came anyway. All the tears that he had thought buried, swallowed, allowed to run dry in that empty crevasse were forcing their way out in a culmination of all the times he hadn't been able to cry despite wanting to and now that he could, he didn't want to. Like a child he wanted to ask for Evie, but couldn't even do that, unable to speak a clear sentence and how would he explain himself to her anyway.

These kind of decisions were why Evie had not wanted to leave London in his care for the longest time, Jacob reminded himself with a bitter taste in his mouth when the tears had dried and George's hand remained on the side of his head, fingers trailing lines through the short hair. “Neither…” Jacob admitted quietly once he had regained his voice. Albeit it was coarse and quiet. “Maxwell.”

“That's a nice name...” For all that Jacob could say his appreciation seemed to be genuine.

The phrase was so out of place that Jacob couldn't help but burst out into perplexed laughter, quieted against the skin of George's shoulder to which he pressed a kiss. It was a thoughtless action. Too tender and too vulnerable for their relationship, but Jacob couldn't stop himself. Feeling a strange relief from the action, but also tired enough to fall asleep any moment. “Yours isn't so bad either...” He mused with a smile, thankful that in the dark George couldn't see that it never reached his eyes.

“You should try it.”

Jacob heaved himself onto his arm, hovering over him for a moment. Tempted to make a tired attempt at it, but settling for a promising “maybe next time.” George cleared his throat when he said that, seemingly uncomfortable by the vocal confirmation that this wasn't the end of what they had going on. “Don't worry I'll leave you time to figure the situation out,” Jacob smirked against his own will. Quietly George snorted as if amused.

There was a moment when he got up at last, where he thought George might reach out for him, or say his name to keep him from leaving. But none of that happened, leaving the air heavy with unspoken words.

This time Julia heard him when he snuck back up the stairs and into their shared room. Perhaps he hadn't been as cautious as before, as even Henry stirred briefly in his sleep. Muttering something that could have been his name just as much as any incomprehensible gibberish.

“Papa? Where were you?” Julia muttered. Distress pitched her voice. “You were gone...” Now there was accusation.

Sighing Jacob went to lay down beside her. “I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk,” he explained. It was half the truth, so as good as any lie.

“Don't like it when you're gone,” she sulked, clinging onto his shirt.

“I know,” Jacob murmured, kissing her head. “I'm sorry, I really wish I could always be with you...” Tired his eyes blinked shut. “I mean it, Julia, I hope you know that.” It was one of the rare occasions that he didn't use an abbreviation but her actual name, meaning to give the moment or his words the gravity they deserved when he did so.

She made a tiny sound of dissatisfaction that melted into an agreeing hum. Much more he didn't remember because he must have fallen asleep or his brain had stopped processing their conversation.

 

_London, February 1868_

It was futile to ask Maxwell whether he was feeling all right or not. It was futile because for all that Jacob knew Maxwell would argue a bullet to the face was just a scratch despite obviously bleeding to death.

Jacob had come to the Alhambra in hope of distractions in form of more explosions, but had been disappointed because all Maxwell had done for the past twenty minutes was revise one of his plays. Not on stage but by sitting in the quiet of the auditorium and furiously crossing out and rewriting lines of his script. They were sitting on opposite couches, cushioned with red velvet.

“You can take a nap if you like,” Maxwell suggested.

With a sigh Jacob stretched himself. “I would if I hadn't slept half the day before I came here.”

“What were you up to?” Idly Maxwell was smoothing a spot on the side of his knee. Jacob had watched him repeatedly do that since he had come here.

“This and that,” Jacob shrugged. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling above them. Pearl Attaway's death had taken up most of his night. “Nothing of importance.”

“Then I'm sure Miss Attaway's mysterious murder cannot be chalked up to you...” Maxwell looked up at him from above the edge of the papers he was holding. The smile on his lips showing in the twinkle in his eyes.

“Haven't got the foggiest...” Jacob couldn't help the grin. For a moment he closed his eyes. “Who fucked up your knee? … What? Don't look at me like that, you've been trying to rub the pain away since I came here and you're almost doing it unconsciously so it's not a new wound.” Jacob straightened himself to better look at him. Only to be met with a scowl from Maxwell.

“Just an old wound,” he mumbled to himself.

“And there I thought you were invincible,” Jacob mused out loud. Noting how Maxwell smiled by the wrinkles that formed around the corners of his eyes. Almost as if to ask if Jacob thought him susceptible to flattery. “So, are you?”

“Fear makes you very much invincible,” Maxwell replied, averting his eyes once again. “Not in a literal sense, but in the way that people fear what you might do to them if they make you bleed… until they find out that you can bleed that is, but it's just an old wound, don't bother with it.”

“But it's bothering you.” Jacob pointed out with a frown. However good of an actor Maxwell thought he was, he wasn't going to convince Jacob otherwise now. “Don't you have some painkillers for that?”

Without a word, Maxwell pulled a flask from the inside of his coat and drank, which Jacob couldn't help but to laugh about just a little. “Here's a deal: I'll find you some relief from the pain and you think about what we'll do with the rest of the day, how does that sound?” His eyes were almost begging.

“As long as it doesn't knock me out...” Maxwell took another swallow from his flask. Under different circumstances, Jacob might have stolen it from him to get his share. Right now he only shrugged. He would have to see what was on offer. “And no soothing syrup.” Now Jacob didn't hold back his laugh.

“I'm quite certain that's off the market,” he assured him with a friendly pat on the shoulder and went his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're asking yourself if Jacob has a list of things he probably shouldn't do but does anyway because for some miracle he manages to make them fit into his life, the answer is yes. Does that stop him? No. Did this story age me? Yes. Repeatedly. Decades. You know what else aged me each time it happened? "Evie's girlfriend Anime." *distant pterodactyl screech*
> 
> Preview for the upcoming 16th:  
> »Terrible decisions that happened once every blue moon were easy to dismiss.«


	9. Ethan's Legacy Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Good news! See that little number up there where it says chapters? I finished writing the story and now you'll get weekly updates! Isn't that awesome? I've been looking forward to this moment for so long, I hope you're just as excited!
> 
> No, I did not read the book, and I don't intend to. My interest in Henry's life is... not existent. So these are my estimated guesses about the gaps that there are and I'm rather happy with how they turned out. This chapter features a lot of George in more than one way and you'll be getting some more answers to questions unasked.

_Crawley, September 1874_

It was a small graveyard. Small and bleak. The gravestones appeared oddly tidy in their accurate rows next to the church. Here it was only them and the great wide open beyond the building.

Evie had asked, she hadn't asked George or Henry because both had been busy with a long-winded conversation about the necessity of what it had meant to free London, but Jacob had declined. And now he was here anyway. Because Henry had wanted to go, now after spending all morning talking to George he had decided that a visit to the graveyard was exactly what he needed. From the way it had seemed they weren't finished, and it was only thanks to Henry's formidable social skills that nobody had been strangled. But Jacob couldn't understand why he had wanted to come here so badly.

Julia had wanted to come along as well of course, if only to spend time with him, but now seemed to regret her decision, not at all enthralled by the countryside and the gravestones. Not even the flowers that grew all around made up for that. “Can we go hooome?” She asked, trudging towards where Jacob had leaned against the fence to give Henry the possibly unwanted but certainly needed space.

“No, we have to wait for uncle Henry.”

“But why?” She stretched the word, sulking a little now.

“Because you let people take their time when they pay the respects to the dead...” Jacob replied quietly. His gaze lingering on Henry, before he turned it to Julia with a soft smile.

Julia frowned, glancing at the tombstones around her. “Who's dead?” She rubbed her nose and kicked a little stone.

“Your grandfather… Evie's father and mine,” Jacob said. Watching her as she came closer and hugged his leg. Gently Jacob patted her head, realising why she must have done it. “I'm not sad, Jube,” he picked her up, a faint smile on his lips. “I didn't like him much… so I'm not sad he's gone.” She looked at him with quizzical eyes, clearly not convinced by his words because she hugged him again. So Jacob wrapped both arms around her and he hugged her close, assuring her that he was fine once more, while he kept watching Henry who stood awkwardly solemn in front of the double grave.

“My mother is also buried there...” Julia looked up as his voice trailed off and Jacob couldn't help but swallow. “It's quite sad, I would have liked for her to meet you,” Jacob admitted. “She died giving birth to me and my sister, so I never got to know her, even though I would have liked to.” After all these years it was easier to talk about, but that helped none with the feeling of picking at an old scab whenever he did.

Julia huffed quietly, as she too watched Henry. “Is my mum dead too?” She said it so profoundly, so quietly, with so much understanding for the wrong in the world that Jacob couldn't stop the hurt from sneaking into his heart.

“No,” Jacob said, fighting the lump in his throat by coughing slightly. “I wouldn't lie to you about something that important Julia, please believe me on that, and when you're a little older you'll meet her and you can decide for yourself what to make of everything.” That was as close to the truth as he could get without making it hurt any more than it already did. He knew it did. He knew he would have been hurt in her situation.

“How old? Why's mum gone then?” She asked again, pouting a little. “It's not fair, I want a mama too.”

Jacob could hear the start of the snivel growing in the undertone of her voice, so he pressed a kiss to her temple. “She chose not to be with us, and she leads a life full of responsibilities now, with too many things to take care of.” It had to be true, at least partially, at least Jacob liked to believe so. “I'm sorry she's gone, I really am, and that I can't be with you like I want to.” Julia nodded, but despite his attempts to soothe her, he had to wipe a few tears from her eyes. With a hand on her back, Jacob hugged her close, his eyes once more shifting towards Henry as Julia buried her face in his shoulder.

“I hate Jack,” she muttered. Jacob knew that he should have told her not to think of him like that, that it was mean and hurtful and how Jack deserved none of those things, but he couldn't. Julia had every right to be upset that he had Jack to look after when he should spend his days with her instead.

By the time Henry wandered back to them, Julia was inspecting the graves again, trying to catch whatever bugs she found but proving not entirely successful. Walking with her made their way back slowly, but Jacob didn't mind. He would have liked to spend forever on this road if it meant the problem that Jack had become in his life would dissolve into thin air.

“You didn't need to come, I would have found it on my own,” Henry reminded him soft-spoken as he was.

“Oh would you, wouldn't you?” Jacob pulled a face. Perhaps he should have taken George's offer to go with Henry instead of him. He liked the graveyard just as much as he liked their old home after all.

A moment of silence passed between them in which Henry seemingly sought for words. “I'm a little surprised you don't resent me… either of you, it should have been both of you and not me that Ethan cared for, I understand that I had a place in his life that should have been reserved for you.”

“He went on his own accord,” Jacob glanced at Julia when she hurried to walk between them, grabbing for Henry's hand and tugging at his arm so they would let her swing and skip along the path they went down. It brought a little smile to his face, despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he could get any more words out, Henry said, “I know you don't like to talk about your father, I respect that, all I want is to make sure there's no bad blood between us because of that, I'd like us to be friends, or at the very least, not enemies.” To let him know his words were appreciated at the very least Jacob showed a little smile.

“How exactly did you meet our father?” Out of all the questions he should have asked Henry when they first came to London this one had never occurred to him. Despite the fact that it now seemed painfully obvious. Wasn't it strange in retrospect how easily Henry had been able to recognise them? How little they had questioned that he had known their father because their world was a small one and Crawley and London were only a stone's throw apart.

“I trained under him while I still lived in India as a child, your father… he saw my capabilities, my strengths and weaknesses,” Henry turned his hand palm upwards as if meaning to weigh two sides of a scale. “I'm a strategist above all, I can see the necessity for death when it arises, but I am not a ruthless killer, Jacob.” If their steps had been slow before they stopped now. “It was the kindness of your father that saved me, I've been told he implored my father not to sent me on the mission they had picked out for me; and I will be forever thankful to him for taking me to London afterwards, without him… I'm not sure I would have ever had the pleasure of meeting either of you...” His gaze wandered down towards Julia. “Or your daughter…” Julia stared back up at Henry, then determinedly tugged at his arm to get them back into motion. She hummed a quiet, happy tune as they continued their way. Content with getting her will.

Jacob's brows had furrowed while he had listened to Henry speak, not sure why it surprised him so much to hear that their father had been given a pupil during his time in India. It was much more realistic than to imagine him depressed and drinking for six years. Even though George had painted that picture very clearly for him with all that he wouldn't say.

“He talked about Evie and you, not so much about your mother, but he mentioned you sometimes when I was still young, he seemed to miss you and his wife, even more, it was very much apparent how much he must have loved her,” Henry chattered on in his gentle voice. Each new word making Jacob taste bile. “When I came to London we stayed in contact, wrote letters, he introduced me to George and the council...” And he talked and he talked and Jacob found it harder and harder to listen.

The fault wasn't Henry's he told himself, but that didn't make the bile go away.

The only rule, if there were any rules, him and George had was not to talk about whatever the hell went on between them. It was easy to adhere. Neither of them was keen on addressing the subject sober and in broad daylight. Unfortunately, that didn't include the subject of Ethan Frye as a whole.

“How are you holding up?” George had snuck up on him after Jacob had brought Julia out to play with some of the other children who gladly left their work for a momentary break. Clara's children never seemed to mind playing with someone younger than them, as long as it meant they got to play at all. All the while Henry was taking a walk around their small city.

“Oh, don't even start, I don't need your pity,” Jacob growled, running a hand through his hair. “I don't miss him, I'm fucking glad he's dead.”

When his eyes met George's he saw a stone-faced expression. Grim and cold his dark eyes pierced Jacob's. “Yes, you've made yourself clear, and yet you are upset whenever someone brings him up.”

“Well, I don't fuckin' like him, how's that for a reason,” Jacob growled, turning away to end the conversation.

Grim as always George stared at him, fighting an inner turmoil that the expression on his face only grazed. “How come you can't forgive him? He came back, he tried to make it up to you, to make you understand his decision, Cecily's death was hard on him–”

“Because he loved her?” Jacob sneered. “That's all everyone ever says, well you don't see me...” He had to bite his tongue and press his lips together to stop himself from saying Maxwell's name. Focusing on another line of thought instead he continued. “What about Evie? What about me?” He had turned again to face George, seething with anger now. It was so easy. Every time someone mentioned their father, it was like someone had meant to unscrew a valve but instead broke it off so all the steam now came out uncontrolled at full speed. “Nice knowing that all I'll ever be is a walking reminder of her if anything at all.” He almost growled his words. Wasn't Evie supposed to be the one more like her anyway? People had always compared him to their father, but then again people also often were stupid. “Thanks for reminding me, if she's all the reason he gave a damn about us he could have stayed in India for all I care.”

“He was your father Jacob–”

“Wanna ask those children if that's enough?!” He hadn't meant to raise his voice it had just happened, when he extended his arm to point George towards the orphans he had taken in. When met with bitter silence, Jacob showed a bitter smirk. “That's exactly what I thought, so shut the hell up.” And to his own surprise George did just that, he raised his hands in defeat and walked out. Leaving a confused Jacob behind who didn't know what to do now that he had gotten his way. Now it was no use anymore to yell or stomp his feet and spew vitriol. Frustrated he stomped off, trying to clear his head, trying not to run into George or anybody else that day who wasn't Julia.

Against all odds, Jacob didn't see him for the rest of the day, which made the mill appear strangely empty. It belonged to George like the Alhambra belonged to Maxwell Roth, so without him, no amount life could replace the emptiness left behind by its owner. It was wrong to compare George to a dead man Jacob thought.

He found him sitting behind a desk over an account book, writing down numbers and names and items, comparing them to his many notes spread about the rest of the space around him. Compared to Maxwell George was exceptionally tidy. Not a neat freak like his sister, but a reasonable amount of tidy that left everything in order at the end of the day. Jacob had meant to walk past him, but couldn't. Instead, his feet had been frozen in place. All he had wanted was a drink, but that sleepless knob head had to be in his way. Jacob scowled, scratched his neck. There was a chance George hadn't noticed him and he was going to take it.

“Sit.”

So much for his drink. Jacob had managed to pry his feet off the floor, wondering if he could make it to the cabinet before George got his will.

“Sit,” George said again. Quietly as it was spoken, it was still an order. One that Jacob only reluctantly followed. So much for his drink. Scanning the study, Jacob found a couple of chairs stacked into a corner. Once they might have been used to accommodate business partners, but with the mill belonging to the assassins those days were long past. Nobody came here anymore, because they came for them now.

“I am sitting,” Jacob replied before George could get out another word. “What do you want?” Provocative Jacob put his boots onto the table, crossing his feet. The act was almost childish in the way he was sprawled into his chair. George's irritated glance making the picture perfect and marking a definite victory for Jacob.

Looking closer George didn't look much irritated at all, having seen through his actions, instead more like the stern teacher who had taken turns in instructing them alongside their father. A very stern and very tired teacher Jacob knew. But more lenient with him than their father, for the fact that George was mostly concerned about the twins getting themselves killed through their own stupidity. 

“Do you really think he cared that little?” George paused only to evaluate the silent reply in Jacob's eyes. “Right...” Another pause, this time longer. While Jacob tried to read his face. Tried to read the unspoken thoughts off his lips.

“Tell me honestly George, did you really think he was going to come back for us?” His words were surprisingly quiet but no less sharp. Jacob found the answer he sought in the silence that continued. “Thought so.” After all these years it still hurt.

Half in defence, half in defeat George raised his hands, however without letting go of the pen he was holding. “He wasn't fit to raise children, I know it doesn't feel like that to you, but trust me Jacob he did you a favour by leaving you with your grandmother.”

“Am I supposed to be thankful or what?!”

“No!” George shot back. “No,” he repeated now, much softer. “But I think it was inevitable that you had to have been separated from him, at least for a while, that's all I'm saying, not that he should have left you the way he did, he just had to get his shit together before anyone could entrust him with two infants.”

Two infants that he had blamed for their mother's death. Left to cry for their parents. Cared for by relatives and friends who took pity on them. The words were on his tongue, but he couldn't say them. Jacob thought George understood pretty well anyway. He still wanted the drink, but chances were he wasn't going to get it tonight. “Do you ever sleep, George?” Jacob found himself asking. Because he had wanted to ever since he had been a child. Even now he rarely ever saw him sleep.

“Not at night...” He raised his brows, while Jacob allowed a flirtatious smile to spread on his lips. “Not very often anyway.”

Jacob clicked his tongue. He let the question George left unspoken hang between them, as he got his legs off the table. George's eyes followed him as he got up, but he immediately frowned when Jacob took his hand and tugged him out of his chair against his will.

“I'll have you know if this is your way to get back at your father, you don't have my approval...” That almost made it sound like he would have it otherwise. Making him curious, but not enough to ask.

Innocently Jacob blinked at him. “Whatever are you talking about?” His words a whisper too close to the other's face. Jacob kept the smile and he kept him close. The warmth of George's breath a constant reminder of an almost kiss, but each of the steps he took was another one backwards. Till Jacob found himself backed against a wall. He would have liked a more comfortable spot better but this would have to do. Blindly his hand reached out to where Jacob assumed the alcohol cabinet and grabbed at any bottle in reach. Bringing it up to his face, he grinned. “Can't believe you're that eager to shag me, old man.”

A scowl answered him as George backed away and didn't even allow him to get a single sip out of the bottle before he grabbed it and downed a large swallow. “That's low even for you – low and unnecessary.”

“Hey, _you_ started it,” Jacob pointed out, the corners of his mouth twisting downwards. When George only gave him a disapproving glance Jacob followed him back to the desk. Again they sat on different fronts, but this time Jacob managed to snag the bottle of alcohol back. Whiskey, he presumed. George had a thing for that. As hard as it was to get. “I am _not_ doing this for your suggested reasons, but you should know better than thinking me above trying my luck.” That one time he had, had left him with a hangover and too much embarrassment to bear for a single person. There was nothing Jacob wouldn't have tried to rile him up. Nothing that wasn't worth testing their father's patience.

This time George glanced back with question in his eyes, but Jacob wasn't going to make him ask. If he wanted to know why _that badly_ he would have to on his own, but Jacob wouldn't point that out now. It went deeper than just that. “Honestly George what would I gain from this if my only motivation was to piss _him_ off.” Other than a heap-load of regret and a mediocre amount of self-hatred. That of course went without saying.

“Why _can't_ you sleep then?” George asked unimpressed. It was enough of an answer for him the way Jacob's mouth twisted, so he continued. “So this has got nothing to do with your father?” He waved at the space between them.

One rule broken. The only rule broken. Jacob swallowed. Broken rules were his speciality so he wasn't exactly sure how he had thought this one would hold. “No that's because of what you said earlier, now I'm all riled up with nowhere to put my frustration...” Might as well drink it away, Jacob thought considering the bottle in his hand. His gaze lifted. Might as well kiss it all away.

The start of a laugh erupted from his throat. Of course, it was his fault now, George clearly hadn't expected anything else. “You were always good at placing blame, Jacob… but that's really all you're good at.”

“You're _still_ acting like a child.” Screaming at the top of his lungs when he didn't get what he wanted. That was what George wanted to say, Jacob could hear it from beneath his words all loud and clear.

“Guess I learnt that from you then,” Jacob retorted. It was wrong and hurtful, and the satisfaction he gained from it short-lived. The fights they had had over the years dissolved into a simple pattern were easier to follow than everything else. A little bit of familiarity to hold onto. Chipping away at the label with a nail Jacob studied the bottle in his hand before placing it back on the table after taking one last drink. He had wanted to take it with him, just for a moment, but bringing alcohol and drinking yourself to sleep wasn't the smartest idea when you had to share a bed with your four-year-old daughter. Julia surely wouldn't appreciate it when she noticed.

Terrible decisions that happened once every blue moon were easy to dismiss. So Jacob sort of blamed Evie, or the lack of her immediate presence at the mill. Of course, it wasn't the right thing to do, but it was easier to say that her absence encouraged regrettable decisions instead of preventing them, instead of admitting that he sought out George's company on his own accord. It made him wonder what kind of excuse George had for what they were doing, but he wasn't going to ask and ruin the magic that made him compliable towards his advances.

It was particularly nice that George always allowed him to leave on his own volition, although it felt like guilt. Towards him or towards their father, Jacob couldn't say, but he figured it was likely a little of both.

If once didn't hurt, then twice was once and thrice was a habit. Their father had once said that about human behaviour, trying to remind him that a bad decision repeated could easily come to form a downward spiral. Even back then Jacob had understood that quite well, but he hadn't particularly cared. Back then he'd held the world in the palm of his hand. The way only teenagers could think themselves invincible with the taste of blood in their mouth. Maxwell had made him feel the same way. If only it had lasted. If only…

There was a small sting of guilt for leaving Julia alone, even though they stayed within the same house. Simply put, Jacob was well aware that he shouldn't. For more than one reason, scratching an itch was about the lamest excuse he could come up with. If that were all that was to it Jacob wouldn't have bothered to visit George under the thinly veiled excuse of bringing visitors, which in the first place wasn't helping his cause here.

He didn't feel guilt as much as regret for his actions. Jacob didn't need Evie or the voice in his head or his daughter that he could barely spend time with in the first place to point out all the things wrong about sharing a bed with George. Only that this time Jacob couldn't claim that he held any particular interest in holding up their relationship. It was something that happened, occasionally, and one day it would stop, just like that. Just like it had begun. Something would happen and they wouldn't go on like this anymore. Jacob was looking forward to that day because he didn't know how he would ever be able to explain what had happened between George and him. And he would have to eventually explain himself to Evie at the very least if this went on. 

But a little sting of guilt no matter how reasonable wasn't going to stop him from sneaking into George's bed. Late at night when he couldn't sleep and George somehow… didn't. Again. Did that man ever sleep? Jacob couldn't tell. The thought worried him for a brief moment, making him want to stay in Crawley, despite the fact that it would bore him inevitably.

Once didn't hurt, but they were well past once by now. Jacob had never liked sleeping alone, but that was an even stupider excuse to sleep with George.

“You should come to London.” The suggestion held every promise to fuel the fire between them till it burnt out when he murmured it against George's neck. Like he was singeing an invisible mark on his skin with his breath. A chance to let it scorch them once and for all and in the ashes of the aftermath they could go their separate ways and back to how it had been before. It was reasonable proposal all things considered.

“Not a chance.” George pulled a face. It was barely visible in the dim light, but Jacob could hear it in the strain of his voice. “It wouldn't change anything… not for you.”

Malcontent Jacob glared at him, hoping it would reach him through the dark. Whether or not it did, George either chose not to react or couldn't see it. Either was just as likely, but Jacob couldn't be bothered to switch to eagle vision and have George be a bright golden figure right in front of his eyes for the next ten minutes.

In the dark, he could feel George's eyes lingering on him. Despite that making little difference in terms of light, Jacob closed his eyes when George touched his cheek and kissed him. “No, Jacob,” he quietly said. “No… I stay in Crawley and you in London.” It was starting to rain outside. Lightly the water was tapping against the window. “And you should go back to your daughter.”

Jacob felt guilty for wanting to say no. For wanting to stay and forget, just for a few more hours. “My offer stands...” Jacob cleared his throat. “Should you… change your mind...” He wanted to kiss George but instead buried his head in his shoulder. “Five more minutes...” He told both of them, closing his eyes once again. George gave his okay with a quiet hum.

He didn't fall asleep. He couldn't. Even if Jacob could feel the weariness creep into his bones, making his body refuse to get up. Even though he didn't want to worry Julia. Or make Henry ask questions that he didn't have an answer to. But the way George's fingers ran across his shoulder and through his hair soothed something that Jacob wished he had a name for.

“Did you forgive...” Jacob paused, halting on the word father as he did so often, “… him.” Jacob listened to his quiet, even breath, almost sure George had fallen asleep.

But a sigh that notably raised his chest betrayed him, despite the quiet that kept on growing heavier and heavier in the air around them. “I made my peace with Ethan's decision…” George turned his head as if to look at him but in the darkness, they only bumped heads and Jacob couldn't help but feel at ease with George's nose buried in his hair.

“But did you forgive him?” Jacob wanted to ask, realising that there wouldn't ever be any answer to that question for him. So instead he made himself comfortable in the way too small bed, basking in the warmth of the body so close to his own, which he found himself clinging too – just a little. Instead, he admitted into the quiet of the night. “I've made my peace with Maxwell's decision too...” George didn't say anything but Jacob could feel the tension of unasked questions hanging in the air. “He almost killed half a dozen children...” Jacob recalled feeling tension creeping up his spine.

Recalled the deafening explosion which had sent anxious panic hammering through his veins. Not anger, just fear for the children he had felt in that very first moment. The air had been thick with smoke and the heat had been crawling underneath his clothes making it hard to think clearly. It had been a miracle none of the children had been harmed by the explosion itself. Flames were soaring high in his mind the moment Jacob squeezed his eyes shut.

He hadn't wanted Maxwell to go through with it. “They survived, he's… been dealt with… it doesn't matter now.” The anger had only come when Jacob had realised what he had set in motion with his defiance. First at himself, then at Maxwell, then his general situation and at last Evie because she had been the only one to yell back. How the hurt had eaten away at him…

George didn't answer, but Jacob thought that the gentle touch of his hand was more than enough of an answer.

He couldn't remember getting up and walking back to his own bed. Relieved to find Julia fast asleep. But he remembered how she had clung to him in her sleep as if afraid to lose him and feeling a way too familiar pang of guilt.

It had been Evie's idea to show Julia the house they had grown up in and while Jacob appreciated the sentiment and Julia the chance to explore a new environment he wouldn't have gone back without her. Feeling like he would never belong into it despite having lived in it for the better part of his life. The pitter-patter of Julia's feet running across the floors brought a sense of life into it that eased some of the turmoil inside of him, however.

It nearly felt like Evie had never left their home. Had instead conjured up Anima out of thin air for company because he wouldn't stay.

Anima had left them to keep Julia company, an obvious sign that Evie needed to talk. Something they were still not doing enough of it seemed to Jacob. “She's lovely,” he pointed out, barely noting the smile on his lips. Anima was certainly earning herself brownie points because Julia liked her, but that was secondary to the content expression on Evie's face.

Evie had shifted her legs to lean against his when she had sat down beside him on the porch from where they could watch Anima and Julia. “I never thought we'd come back here… much less with a child in tow.”

“I always knew you would come back,” Jacob smiled, leaning his head back. It was half a lie, he hadn't expected it for many more years, but if either of them had to come back home it would have to be her. When he rolled his head to the side Evie frowned at him. But answering her unspoken question would have been weird so Jacob kept quiet.

“I've been thinking lately...” Evie started.

“Do you ever stop to do anything else?” Jacob teased.

“My girlfriend,” she replied quite matter-of-factly without missing a beat.

Jacob sighed, smirking just a little. “I was going to make fun of you, but you win this round.”

Now it was Evie who laughed. “I've just been meaning to say… I failed to see and through that acknowledge that while you caused chaos during our stay in London it was inevitable in some cases... let me explain, I'll give you an example,” she said when Jacob judged her with a frown. “John Elliotson had to die and that was your doing, but the crash of London's medical economy had been inevitable either way.”

“Same with Pearl...” Jacob began, testing the new ground Evie was paving beneath them and nodded when she did the same. There was nothing else to say. It was clear which kills had had inevitable consequences for him and that Twopenny hadn't been one of them.

Maxwell Roth stood for himself, and for a moment Jacob considered mentioning him, just to ask what she considered his kill. If she had considered his kill a problem in the past in any way too. But Jacob couldn't come up with any reason for it to ring true.

“The opposite of good's not bad but well-intentioned...” Evie said into the quiet, parroting the thought nagging at the back of his mind. It had been one of their father's lessons and Jacob couldn't stop himself from elbowing her in the side for it. From the corner of his eye he could see her biting back a smile. “We're both guilty of it and you know that.”

Weighing his head from side to side Jacob twisted his mouth. “No idea what you're thinking of.” Despite all the time which had passed he still couldn't stand it when she remarked on their father's lessons or the man in general, but time and distance had made him more forgiving so he wasn't going to yell at her for it. “Is there a particular reason you're mentioning these events?”

Despite her best efforts, Jacob could clearly see how she was trying to fool him when she looked him with those clear blue innocent eyes and shook her head. “Evie...” Now it was his turn for a gentle reprimand.

“I've just been thinking a lot since I came back, that's all,” she assured him or tried to anyway. “About what happened, the things that you did and I did, and all the things you told me afterwards… I tried and failed to fit into father's footsteps and at the time it upset me more than I would have been able to voice, but now I'm glad for it.” She paused with a sigh. “I keep thinking that I would have waited on that train, waited and waited and I would have grown more impatient and finally snapped at Henry because I would have been so upset at you I wouldn't have known what else to do, you could have died and I wouldn't have known, I wouldn't have cared I would have spent my time cursing you for standing me up on a mission so incredibly important, and then I wonder why you didn't even try to tell me when you finally showed up, and I think about how I had Lucy Thorne hanging from the key's necklace around my throat several storeys above the ground with my neck, not a hand's with over the jagged edges of a broken window and how I never told you about that either because I thought you would just ridicule my efforts again and...” She had been wringing her hands by now, before she stopped, lips pressed together in a bitter line.

He hadn't expected to see so much understanding in her eyes.

“And what?” Jacob urged her on.

But Evie only shook her head. Words eluding her, she continued her silence. When she finally spoke her voice was quiet. “It just feels really stupid, you know? I thought… we should have been capable of handling a situation like that, that father would have taught us better…” She sounded bitter, and like she was choking on held back anger that was making her blood boil.

“In all fairness,” Jacob replied just as quiet. “London's far bigger than Crawley, I doubt either of us could have ever been prepared for handling it.” They had been young and reckless. They had been daredevils. They had been foredoomed from the start. “Brewster and Ferris were never meant to be our blooding, it was always London…” They hadn't even been their first kills, so it was hard for him to count Ferris in the first place. Even in the strictly symbolic way it had been meant to be.

“That's fitting...” Evie smiled as she bowed her head. It was a much nicer way of seeing things too. She agreed with that, much to Jacob's joy. “Never felt much like it either, but that's not what I wanted to say… I… we… I thought I didn't need you and I was wrong, I wanted you to hear that.” From me. In person. She didn't say those things, but her tone conveyed them all the same. “I meant we should have known how to work together and not against each other… you know having known each other for twenty years...” Her voice trailed off again.

Jacob raised a brow in question. “Thanks, I'd sell you for a beer.”

“Always charming, Jacob Frye – I'd sell you for a new pair of boots.”

“Harsh words, dear sister.” He couldn't help the smirk now, just like her.

The pain they had so willingly inflicted on each other believing the other to be wrong or foolish in their actions had left scars to pick at in the letters they had written each other. Most of the time they were filled with present and past, sometimes even future events they wanted each other to know about, along with the responses to the other's life, but here and there old and older wounds had been carefully picked at till scabs had come loose and they had been able to examine the damage. That she had never mentioned what had happened back in London between them Jacob had taken for a sign to be cautious, that she might still be upset about his actions. That it still hurt, but as she had spoken a new thought came into his head. Perhaps she simply hadn't known how to talk about what had happened once clarity had allowed her to reflect with less emotion. Just like he didn't know how to talk about Maxwell when the shadow he had cast reached up to Crawley.

They had promised each other to work it all out in written words only to realise that it couldn't be done that way. That there were things which were better told in person than through ink and paper. Too personal to be boiled down to anything less than spoken words and facial expressions. Too important not to receive an immediate answer, even if that answer would be silence from the other. 

He felt closer to her in that instance. Closer than ever before in the last couple years. Closer than any kiss could have ever brought them. “Good to have you back,” Jacob said with a smile.

 

_Crawley, January 1868_

They had come late in the evening. Hand in hand, like they had so often when they had been children. Slowly walking up the old path that had been set more by footsteps than the hands of people. Evie's eyes had been red from all the crying and Jacob had been grim-faced and hollow. He had held her hand like it meant the ending of the world if he didn't and brought her through the front door one step at a time despite the winter's cold. Jacob had meant to make her sit by the fire, but Evie had refused. So they had stood awkwardly in the living room. Not knowing whether to go left or right or stay where they were.

Neither of them had bothered to put effort into shielding themselves from the cold and now they were freezing. Jacob had still been holding his sister's hand when George had found them after being notified of their visit.

They had come to bring the inevitable news. The words long known to George before they had finally spoken. Ethan had died. He had been dying. A truth George hadn't wanted to admit to himself no matter how obvious it had been in the past few weeks. Yet it would have been a miracle if Ethan had survived his sickness and wounds in a weather like this.

“He's dead,” Jacob had said, voice husky, when Evie hadn't been able to get a word out. Even though there must have been too many on her tongue. She had always so much to say.

This time they had been able to convince Evie to sit and Jacob wrapped her in one of the blankets they were given to shield her against the cold of the night. Loosely he hung the other over his shoulders and stared into the fire under George's watchful gaze.

Mulling over the fact that just wouldn't sink in George had poured them all drinks. “Against the cold,” he'd told Evie. “Against the shock,” he'd told Jacob. Who had stared back at him just as blankly as he had stared into the fire. Making it all too obvious that there was no shock, not even in the barest sense. Just a hollow. A mirror to reflect their own sadness in, but wouldn't feel it. “You're in shock,” George repeated quietly. Whether or not Jacob would understand he was doing him a favour remained to be seen.

Evie had taken the cup without a word, her mouth unsmiling and pale. She had let go of Jacob's hand in the process and George caught her brother grasping at air for a moment and resting his hand on her arm as he took the cup in his free hand. Stared first at George with dull, empty eyes and then into the cup. Jacob drank. Half of it by the looks of it, then pulled his legs close, unwinding one of Evie's hands back from the cup into his own. Fingers stroking the back of her hand. Comfort in the simplest way conveyed.

Watchful, Jacob's eyes had wandered towards him as George had drank straight from the bottle. Albeit not unexpected the hurt wasn't lessened and the sting all too familiar. As if to remind him what it had been like all those years ago when Cecily had died. Twin wounds for the parents of the twins. How remarkably ironic.

To think that Ethan had died had felt surreal until he had come to see his body and held his cold dead hand. Holding in tears that Evie had been free to cry and Jacob would never. But he wouldn't allow himself to.

The bedroom had been a dull, dark, dusty, depressing place. Fitting for a dead man waiting to be buried, George thought as he stepped inside to sit by the bedside. He had left Evie and Jacob downstairs. Huddled together like they often had been as children.

In the distance, he could hear Jacob's quiet voice. Soothing his sister.

Closing his eyes, George first let his shoulders sink, then his head into his hands. No tears. He had promised himself no more tears for the two of them, but he couldn't do anything about the way his eyes stung. “Damn you to hell.” The words were no more than a breath between gritted teeth. “Damn you, Eth.”

Rules and reason were what George had always been able to pride himself on. Rules and reason which had been lost in the faces of Ethan and Cecily for reasons which were beyond the understanding he had been raised with. Shackles in their own right, which had bound him beyond rhyme and reason to them and through that to their children. Who were more like their parents than they knew. All in ways they didn't know. Caused the burn that he couldn't stop, eating its way through his chest. Eating it hollow.

George pressed his lips into a thin white line. He was supposed to mourn a best friend and it was exactly what he would do once he left this room, but now, just now in the quiet between the dead and him, he would mourn the lost love left otherwise unacknowledged. Ethan would have to grant him this much, whether he liked it or not, but thankfully the dead seldom argued with how the living grieved and the form of their pain.

He sat there for longer than he could process time. Till he didn't realise how it had darkened outside. Not talking, but he took his cold, dead hand trying to remember its warmth. Trying to remember the man he had loved and not the one he had argued with not all that long ago, thinking that there was no difference between the two other that one was a much more comfortable memory now.

Just once, he should have found the words to tell him. Tell him that he had missed her just like him. Or maybe not just like him, but eerily close to that. Because in retrospect it was so much easier to think that a little understanding might have changed everything. Full-well knowing that he had feared losing his best friend over something he didn't quite understand himself. Making it hard to believe that he could have made Ethan understand in the first place. Not after he had come back from India anyway. Not after the hurt Ethan had caused him.

He shouldn't have felt that Ethan's pain had been justified, because it hadn't been and it hadn't made up for the pain he had inflicted on George, but spite made you feel and think and wish the most awful things. Mixed with love it made for an even more dangerous cocktail.

George couldn't remember if he cried, but he must have. He only remembered how stiff his bones were from sitting in the cold bedroom for hours on end. The open window forgotten, but not its purpose.

It was Jacob who first turned his head when George made his way back downstairs, then Evie. One finely attuned to the other's behaviour. Just to see. Just to make sure, because something had to be going on to catch Jacob's attention. They hadn't done that since they had been three or four. Since it had served some actual purpose to them. But Evie was looking for guidance from about anyone now, not only from her brother who only had eyes for her in her moments of grief, but she never noticed.

 

_Crawley, September 1874_

“Tell me about Maxwell.” Jacob realised he should have expected the question. Not sure why it hadn't come any sooner. With him visiting and the weather getting colder George had become a little lenient with his training sessions for the children. So Jacob had rounded them up together with Julia who had fallen asleep on his lap and read to them. Fairy tales and mysteries and told funny anecdotes about his own childhood that involved Evie and George. 

Most of the younger children, just like Julia, had fallen asleep even though it was barely afternoon. But the clouds outside were making the sky grey and giving the impression of it already being evening. The older children had woken some of them, left others sleeping and were now off to play again, if not to help the workers around the mill here and there.

George had sat down with some distance between them, making sure not to disturb any of the sleeping children.

“No.” Was the answer that was on the tip of his tongue. “No.” Was the answer he should have given. “He was just someone,” was what Jacob said in the end. Because Maxwell could never be anyone. So he had to be someone.

George scoffed, nearly rolling his eyes as he did so. “Jacob, I'm not asking because I'm vexed...”

The look on his face must have betrayed him, Jacob thought because George's stare grew from mildly concerned to piercing. “Stop that, you're not going to make me talk like this, I–” Jacob broke off in a huff. “I told you it doesn't matter now.”

“Whatever happened haunts you, so I reckon it matters a great deal, if not to anyone else, then to you at least,” George replied but only earned silence in response. “Fine, Jacob, if you don't want to talk about it – don't… but in case you change your mind… you know where to find me.”

The sincerity in George's words made Jacob want to spit back filth and bile, almost out of reflex. An inexplicable instinct made him hold his tongue anyway. Knowing that George didn't deserve the same treatment their father had gotten from him. “Just...” Jacob pressed his lips together, words on the verge of forming stuck in his throat. “All he ever wanted me to be was _just like_ Evie… and I _can't_ do that, I never _wanted_ to be her,” that was half a lie but Jacob wasn't going to admit that now, “what's so bloody fuckin' wrong about wanting someone who doesn't find fault in who I am… that's why I don't forgive him, George.” The words were a sharp knife twisting in his own gut.

Neither in his sister's nor his own case their father had done an excellent job at raising them, but with Evie, it was much harder to see often, because she had so clearly been his favourite. And Jacob had never been able to live up to it. And Maxwell had picked up the pieces it had left him in, thinking they were fine just like that and Jacob had loved him for that alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also started working on a new project that I'm eager to share with you once I've got a sustainable backlog of chapters I'll be uploading that one too. The WIP title is Catharsis, for now, not sure if it will hold, but I've grown kind of attached to it. In the meantime feel free to bug me about this about either story over on my blog https://dagranwrites.tumblr.com/ if the comment section is too scary or you just want to talk in general. I'm always happy to talk about my projects, as long as it's not a massive spoiler!
> 
> Preview for the 23rd:  
> »Smoothing the golden coat with her thumb Evie returned her attention to the mask.«


	10. Ethan's Legacy Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other half of the previous chapter so to speak. Jacob and Evie discuss some more things. There's more Julia. We're nearing an inevitable plot point again. Jacob has to make more regretful life choices, but things are being addressed one after another. Maxwell is being addressed. Sort of. Not exactly how Jacob imagined that would go.

_London, February 1875_

It wasn't hanging across from his bed, although Jacob had considered to put it there, but in the end, he had decided to keep it as part of the assassination wall. Before it had gotten a spot on the wall next to his desk. He had placed in front of a window so he wouldn't have to stare at a wall all day long whenever he found he couldn't get away from the paperwork.

The wall on the train by now was no more than a decoy containing no information which couldn't be obtained through simple and obvious means anyway. Jacob had cleaned and hung up the blackboards Aleck had left behind for the Rooks and Assassins to use. Most of the time they left messages for him and each other, sometimes they added information. Jacob found it more useful than to have endless slips of paper cluttering the walls of the train.

“I remember that,” Evie smiled, picking up the mask to examine it more closely.

Watching her Jacob fought down the urge to tell her. He had to tell her. He wanted to tell her. He didn't know anymore which of these two statements was true. Didn't know anymore which was wishful thinking and which wasn't, so he swallowed whatever it was that lay on his tongue and kept watching her. She wouldn't understand. No, she would. The voice in his head whispered arguing against itself, not knowing which statement to trust more.

“That's from the old assassination wall back then, don't say anything I'll remember,” she said, pressing her lips together in concentration. “It was hanging on the right...” Evie traced the length of the cord up to where it ended and had been pinned to the wall. Then to the left. “Maxwell Roth… your trophy, isn't it?” She turned to face Jacob, a complacent smile on her lips since she had solved the puzzle.

“Something like that...” His shoulders heaved with a sigh. “It used to hang right across from where I slept, I guess I grew fond of it spending all those hours staring at it...” All those hours he had tried to will himself asleep. It was half the truth anyway.

Smoothing the golden coat with her thumb Evie returned her attention to the mask. “It's a nice trophy...” She said finally and sighed herself. “I'm glad you didn't accept his invitation.” Now that answered one question that Jacob had been carrying around since forever.

Her words came out of nowhere or so it seemed, but it wasn't what she said, it was that she said it all, which stunned Jacob. “I didn't think you remembered,” he said, words falling from his lips before he could stop them, a little, unbelieving laugh following them. “It's been so long...” Maybe he should tell her. Maybe...

“It's also a good mnemonic,” Evie smirked, waving the mask at him. “I've been meaning to tell you, but I wanted to do so face to face, not in a letter... I know it must have been hard for you to resist the easy kill that letter promised… I wasn't so sure what you would do, but I'm glad you never went, it could have been a trap, you could have gotten hurt, you could have caused more chaos…” Stern Evie shot him an admonishing glance, but the tug at the corners of her mouth gave away how she didn't mean it, then gently placed the mask back against the wall and took a step backwards to examine his workspace. “I'm aware it wasn't your intention, but you know...” She waved her hand instead of finishing her sentence, as if it went without saying what she meant and because Jacob understood perfectly well, maybe it did.

“I know...” That was all Jacob could reply, all he knew how to say into the silence which followed. Somewhere along the lines his stomach had started twisting and a lump had appeared in his throat, but he tried to focus on his sister, tried to bring a smile to his face, wishing she hadn't brought it up. Despite the initial worry, ever since back then her obliviousness had been painfully obvious to him, (though it had been a little hard to believe in the first place), but the only thing which had truly saved him from her scolding was the fact that she had never brought it up. Why, Jacob had never asked, to him any question related to the topic of Maxwell Roth had only been a potential hazard zone. Because Evie wouldn't like it, and that was the one thing he was sure about with her and that topic.

What she would take issue with were a specific number of circumstances and decisions that Jacob had memorised and formed intricate argumentations against. He could name them by heart, it weren't many. But he wasn't going to take his chances now that he could see her so glad for seemingly having done the right thing. Sooner or later the spell would break, that was as inevitable as Evie berating him for what he had allowed to happen. Truth be told, Jacob would find it more worrisome if Evie were to agree with him just like that. She so rarely ever had, that he just couldn't imagine it.

For better or for worse George had not come back to London with them, although Evie would have liked him to, having explicitly asked for him to come along. Jacob liked to think it was for the better. For all that he could tell there was nothing worth mentioning left between them and the distance would help to eliminate whatever might have persisted.

Through some miracle, Jack had managed not to kill anyone in his absence, even though they had stayed for longer than they all had intended. Jacob hadn't been able to reason himself out of it, by considering it meant he got to spend time with Julia. If he had gotten his way he would have stayed in Crawley with her. Away from Jack. Close to Evie and the Assassins. But life never really went how he wanted it to in the first place. Else Maxwell would be alive now.

“Something wrong?” Evie inquired. Perhaps she could read the guilt on his face, but if that was the case she didn't let him know. Even more, she allowed Jacob to shake his head and rub his face without so much as making a fuss for telling such an obvious lie.

Folding her hands she sat down next to him. They were close enough for their knees to touch, drawing comfort from the little piece of familiar intimacy the touch provided. “I was talking about father a lot with Anima, while we were in Crawley… and recently again, you never seem to want to...” There was a long pause, which she used to gather herself. Pleased, Jacob noted how her words lacked the expected accusation. “You weren't in shock you weren't even apathetic, you weren't shaken at all when father died, were you?” She blinked, then stretched the corners of her mouth as if unsatisfied with her realisation. “I'm just… I'm trying to wrap my head around it...” For a lack of words, she waved her hands, but Jacob thought he knew exactly what she meant. There was no secret trick, no made-up language they shared as twins, it was merely knowing each other better than anyone else. Not that that had anything to do with being twins either, it was a conscious choice as much as the circumstances they had grown up under.

He'd felt free, but he couldn't tell her that. “I don't think I felt anything,” that much he could admit. Not the relief, however, although his expression might have given him away when he closed his eyes and sank his head with a sigh into his hands. Running them down his face slowly as he was gathering his thoughts. While she had grieved the man who had raised them for the better part of their life Jacob had felt the chasm between them for the first time in all its depth and gravity. The divide stretching on and on like a big black nothing that could swallow anything and everything whole. Him above all and with too much ease. “No… I… well…” George had seen right through him when Jacob hadn't mirrored his sorrow at the news. George had also been the one to suggest to Evie that he was in shock. Not that it had made any sense to Jacob at that point, but he had nodded along anyway. “I'd like to say it's as easy as I just can't forgive him, but… it's not just that, it's...” Jacob pulled his mouth taunt, shaking his head. “It's so unfair, I'd give everything for having his freedom of choice, but I can't Evie, I can't leave Jack to himself or pretend like it doesn't upset me that I can't stay with my own daughter because of him, but I know what he'll become and I can't let that happen, I have to try and sometimes I hate him for that, I don't want to but I do because I know no matter what I'll do, Julia might end up thinking it's her fault when it's all but that.”

Evie's glance lingered on him. The day their father had died she had done so too, quiet and dumbfound, struggling to control her rising emotions. London had whetted them like knives, made them sharp and bitter and unleashed them like an overflowing tide on each other. Now there was no such thing. No judgement or accusation. Only a quiet almost soothing calm he could see.

Maybe it was in his eyes. Maybe it was in the way he couldn't get the words out. How very unwanted he'd felt. 

“Does she think that?”

Helplessly Jacob shrugged. “She says she doesn't, well whenever I ask her about it she says no anyway.” Pressing his lips together Jacob shook his head, burying it in his hands again.

Gently Evie touched his shoulder in comfort. “Don't be so hard on yourself, you're already doing much better than father.”

Jacob only lifted her head to show her he was rolling his eyes. “Like that's hard,” he sneered. “I wanted to strangle him the…” He halted, smiling faintly. “She was so tiny… and I couldn't help thinking about him, and the way he left us, and I couldn't wrap my head around it...”

There was something in the depths of Evie's blue eyes that spoke of understanding. Something deeper than just factual knowledge and sympathy that he couldn't quite put his finger on and was almost too scared to ask.

“This isn't a question of forgiveness,” Jacob sighed, gently shaking his head. “And I don't begrudge you the relationship you had, but you _sided_ with him...” With hard eyes, he looked at her. “ _Full offence_ taken.”

Her mouth opened, then she frowned. Finally, Evie shook her head. “That's what this is about, Jacob you–” _You could have just told me_. The words were on the tip of her tongue, Jacob could almost hear them in the quiet space between them. “Father wasn't wrong...” Evie stated, hesitantly. “You were… reckless, inconsiderate, destructive... your actions… you _broke_ the Bank of England – it's not like he was being unreasonable in trying to teach you consideration for your environment.”

Jacob snorted, turning his head away. “Don't you get it? You were supposed to be on my side and… you weren't…! No, you had to go around parroting _father_ to my face.” Abrupt Jacob had gotten up to bring some distance between them, not meaning to but raising his voice in the process. “How do you think that makes me feel?” He spit the words to her feet against better judgement, knowing that it would hurt more than he wanted her to. Feeling righteous in his actions still. “I know I've taken things too far, but I apologised for that, didn't I?”

There she sat. Quiet and tight-lipped, staring back at him with her expression hardened not to let him see how he had hurt her. “Don't act like _you're_ any better.” Evie stood to raise herself to his eye-level, scorn written over her face. “I haven't been ridiculing your efforts and interests,” she pointed out sharply. Taking a step forward Evie attempted to bore a finger into his chest, but Jacob easily evaded the action leaving her poking at air.

“Oh...” It dissolved into a joyless laugh. “You don't wanna go there Evie,” he said, but the defiance in her eyes spoke for everything she didn't say. “ _Fine_ ,” Jacob sneered with open arms. “You're not starting a gang, Jacob. – Don't kill your target Jacob, he upholds a thread of London's infrastructure that's so weak it's going to break if we so much as rattle one of its links. – Don't do this, don't do that. No, you're wrong. That's dangerous. Don't kill them. Don't blow that up. Why don't you know that, Jacob. – _Father was right_ , those were your words remember? Don't think I've forgotten. Do you have any idea how often I've had to hear that?” He couldn't bring himself to quote the whole sentence, albeit remembering it all too well. It still hurt too much.

“It's hardly my fault that you were reckless and couldn't follow orders.” Evie snapped back in defence.

Exasperated Jacob sighed. “And there I'm pointing you right at it and you're missing the mark, sweet sister” Jacob replied poignant.

“Then tell me something I don't know,” Evie growled.

He wanted to shout at her. Fuse all injustice felt and done into a tight coil to make it tangible and throw it at her feet. But instead his shoulders sank and Jacob couldn't get a single word out. He thought of Maxwell. Thought of how easily he had been able to convince him. Thought of telling her, but only managed to press his lips together and shake his head. “I'm on your side Evie, I've always been… try and remember the last time you were on mine, truly on mine.”

There was a long pause between them. So long Jacob almost gave up on getting an answer from her. If it weren't his own place he would have walked out and left her standing, but he wouldn't back down this time.

At last Evie shook her head in defeat. “How was I supposed to know you were taking that to heart this much… You never let me know, Jacob… I'm sorry I was stupid enough to believe it didn't hurt you… a fine older sister I am...”

“Four minutes.” Jacob couldn't help but to point it out with an eye-roll. She wouldn't ever let him forget it, so he wouldn't let her forget either.

“Fine...” Evie sighed. Shrugging with open arms. “We were both stupid, what now...” It was no question, just an empty phrase. “I'll be on your side Jay, you just have to let me.” Her words were an indirect proposal to be honest. All cards on the table. No more lies. Jacob could read it in her posture.

“There's nothing to tell,” he replied, mirroring her shrug. “Nothing I want to talk about right now anyway...”

Evie nodded. Not out of understanding, but to acknowledge his decision and right now that was more than enough for Jacob. Instead of saying anything she reached out and squeezed his arm, having to close the distance between them by half a step to do so, saying more than with any words she could have picked with her little gesture.

Jacob couldn't help a little smile when he noticed how she leaned towards him. “You are forgiven,” he responded quietly, turning towards her. “And maybe I should have told you more directly.” Evie glanced up, from where she had placed her head on his shoulder, telling him that it would have been considerate with no more than just that. Jacob decided not to reply to that.

Instead of letting go of him, Evie dragged him along as she was once again drawn towards the souvenirs they had gathered while freeing London. She had left them behind with him, but each time she visited his flat they drew her in, even though it couldn't be for the memories. Unless Evie had developed a sudden liking in remembering being upset with him. “Where are the train and Westminster Palace?” She asked, referring to the models they had acquired. The train from Agne's apprentice Niall and the palace from Starrick's desk. Evie had rolled her eyes when Jacob had claimed it.

“Toys,” Jacob replied matter-of-factly. Meaning he had given them to Julia to play with because the only toys Jack was interested in were sharp and pointy and meant to inflict pain and death. He wanted no toy soldiers and boardgames or dominoes, nothing to make life seem normal, and while Jacob could accept that, it meant that Jack had to accept that he still had some years before his blooding. Before he would even receive a hidden blade in the first place.

“Jack's not one for toys, is he?”

“Not unless it's knives… no...” Jacob said. Although he had seen Jack play with the toys he'd bought him. In secret when he had thought nobody was watching when Jacob had sought him out with his eagle vision. But even then he'd been far from a normal child with the stories which had played out at his hand.

“Small wonder, you two get along,” Evie smirked and Jacob tried to copy it, but couldn't. “Something wrong?”

“No...” Jacob swallowed. Not knowing how to explain the way his insides tightened at the comparison. They weren't alike. No, not at all. But he could forgive Evie the comparison for never having spent time with Maxwell. “He just reminds me of someone else if you were to ask me.”

When Evie asked who it was Jacob remained silent for a long time, because he didn't know how to answer the questions that would follow. “Someone who taught me I have to be careful not to build my own prison, the same way Starrick was imprisoned in this city.”

“And how do you plan to manage that?” Evie inquired. Curious and concerned as ever.

“Someone once told me about Starrick's gang leaders – _why build when you can ebb and flow like the sea, I wouldn't aim to pin them down..._ ” Jacob barely noticed the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “So I figure we'll just do that, the Templars will _always_ come back… they might even take London back one day, but when that day comes it won't eradicate the Assassins from the city again,” Jacob paused to look at his sister. “We'll have eyes and ears in every branch of society of interest to men like Starrick, you'll see London won't ever suffer a ruler like him again because we won't need to match him, we already have.” A long time ago she had told him something similar and judging by her stare Evie hadn't expected him to remember.

“Yes…?” Jacob turned his head to look at her when she kept staring at him for no apparent reason.

“I've seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“The play – Ezio,” she smiled at him oh so endearingly. Still, it took a moment before the meaning of her words sunk it.

“Oh.” It escaped his throat with a little laugh. “Well...” He shrugged. “Say what you want about Maxwell Roth, but his heart belonged to the theatre...” Jacob tapped his chest right above his own heart. Feeling a bitter smile coming on and turning away to hide it from Evie. Talking was still harder than thinking, Jacob realised, but then again he had done a great deal more thinking these past years than talking about Maxwell. “Ezio gets a reprise every year or so, it's just _that_ good...” He scratched his neck, smiling still but not as bleak as before. “It's not much of a theatre anymore anyway...” It was as if that part of the Alhambra had died with Maxwell and nothing was going to bring it back, despite how many people still whispered his name in fright when they spoke of him. Maxwell had been its blood and backbone and heart, and he had burnt it to ash along with Jacob's insides in a single night.

Closing his eyes Jacob fought off the imagery in his head. “Don't,” he said quietly when he noticed Evie's concern. “I don't want to talk about it right now.” There it was again. Jacob wondered if repeating the same phrase was enough for her to put two and two together.

“Is it because of what happened the night the Alhambra burnt down?” She asked. Tentatively Evie stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder.

Jacob nodded, although it wasn't even half the truth. It had never been just that one night. It had been every night. From the first to the last. Every glance. Every touch. Every kiss. Every shared moment melded together. Too much to speak of it in words he didn't have right now.

“Would you look at that, my reckless little brother is all grown up now,” Evie smiled, attempting to change the subject. Her eyes trailed across the slips of paper, notes and newspaper clippings, pictures, whatever he had been able to find on his subjects of interest.

“I'm not–”

“Four minutes, Jacob, four entire minutes.” Of course, she didn't let it go. She never could, but he wasn't going to hold it against her now.

He raised his hands in mock exasperation. “Would you stop that, I don't need an older sister.” Her eyes begged to differ, seemed to ask if not at least sometimes and Jacob couldn't help but to lower his gaze as he shook his head. “No, you're fine the way you are, being just my sister.”

Evie paused and thought about that for a moment. “Maybe you're right, you have changed quite a bit… one day you'll have to tell me who exactly I have to thank for that.” A smile lingered on her lips when she leaned against him. Shoulder against shoulder. “I'd really like to tell them in person.”

“You wouldn't believe me...” Jacob laughed quietly to himself. It sounded empty and hollow to his own ears.

“You'd be surprised about all the things I believe, Jacob,” Evie replied just as quietly.

 

_London, March 1875_

Every spare moment London and Jack had given him, Jacob had poured into his time with Julia. Every other moment he'd been allowed to spare he'd pored over the existing research about the eagle sense. Hesitant to approach others about his discovery or Jack Jacob had borrowed whatever books had been available at their library in Crawley. A poor yield for a council's library, and nothing he hadn't known already either. However, they had helped a little with Jack, as he had been able to borrow analogies and training exercises from them, but not much with explaining why his vision worked differently from the usual. 

Keeping record of Jack's abilities was tedious, keeping record of his own a loose end he shouldn't even have untied. In the end, Jacob was certain of two things. For one that it couldn't be forced, he had tried so many and more times. And secondly, that it weren't ghosts but memories. He had seen enough of them by now to be certain of it. They also always came unprompted, but Jacob was certain that was something he could bring under his control, given he would find something actual time to train it. He named it control but he knew it was patience above all. A trait Jack lacked even on his best behaviour.

What little patience Jacob had been graced with he was spending on Jack (most of it anyway) and Clara (not really that much) and Julia (the other large chunk) most of the time, so, unfortunately, there was seldom any left for the matter of Maxwell's ghost.

He was almost certain it wasn't possible to summon the memory ghosts outside the location they were supposed to exist, but Jacob had long since decided to not put that past the eagle sense's capability either. What little he did know about it wasn't enough to make Jack's vision manageable, so of course, no book could explain what Jacob had discovered.

Practice, Jacob knew, it was all a matter of practice. But more than practice he liked to walk around the flat and let himself be surprised by the memories which came floating by. White ghosts who played out scenarios of better days and then vanished into nothingness, but he was starting to get a hang on how to replay them. The process was halting and clumsy, but as long as Jacob managed to do it he figured it to be a success. It was easier when he was sitting still, but as long as he made no sudden movements it worked either way.

Looking back on it, he had spent more time at Maxwell's flat and the Alhambra than on the train while Maxwell had still been alive. It was quieter here than at the Alhambra, Jacob liked it for that. He liked Evie not having a clue in the world where he had been, he liked the peace it gave him in combination with knowing that he was welcome right where he was. Welcome and wanted. Desired. Favoured by London's most feared man. How could anyone have expected him to say no?

So even now he found himself drawn to it only partially because of Julia. The ghostly presence her mother had left had long since vanished.

 

_London, March 1868_

They had been sitting over a set-up of cards, it could hardly be called a game, although it might have started out as one. But all Maxwell needed was a deck of cards or a coin and Jacob's attention was captured. 

“I'll show you something,” he would say and Jacob would watch and try it himself and fail. Curiously enough it had rarely bothered him, rather kept him focused during their conversations

“What's that one called?” Most of the card tricks Jacob knew were self-taught, from watching others or by simply making use of his skills as an assassin and those which had been taught he had never learnt the names of. Maxwell, on the other hand, was a walking sleight-of-hand manual and never had a problem to answer even the most obvious questions.

“The Jumping Gemini.”

Nodding, Jacob said, “show me” and opened his palms to receive the four cards. Not quite able to hide the quirk of his mouth when he'd heard its name. “Liar,” he had grinned, “there are no Geminis.”

“Patience, Jacob, patience.” Maxwell had all the patience in the world for him. Always

“Where's the fun in that?” Jacob pulled a face but sat patiently through the explanation. So there they had been sitting, Maxwell watching him flipping over his four cards again and again in an attempt to deceive. It always had seemed to amuse him when Jacob had tried his hand at sleight-of-hand, preferably card tricks, but mainly because Jacob always carried a deck of cards with him. Jacob, in turn, had been smiling over the name of the trick. “This is stupid, I wanted to complain about Evie....” Now the cards made him want to tell her stupid puns. There was a moment of pause where Jacob closed his eyes and sighed. “Don't ask, it's stupid, it's all my fault again anyway, and she's going to rub in my face how she had to clean up after me.” Like she always did lately.

“Your sister sounds patronising,” Maxwell observed.

“Yes...” Jacob muttered, frustration rising once again. “Guess why we don't get along.”

“Jacob my dear, family is something to be earned, not by blood, but by bond, because sometimes your family is awfully stupid.”

Jacob glanced up, snorting amused and looked back at the cards. “Unfortunately, my sister is admirably smart.” Which had made Maxwell pause and study him. “She's not that bad...” Jacob pressed his lips together, focused on the cards in his hand again. No, Evie had never been bad, just disappointing. If he had to pick a word to describe her right now it would be that. “She's thinking of leaving London once all of this is over, she doesn't know that I know, but I heard her talking to Henry, they want to go to India.” It was the first time Jacob had given that option actual thought and the first time he had realised how much he hated that thought.

Maxwell must have read it on his face because he reached out to grasp his hands with gentle force to hold them still. It never needed any more than that with Jacob. The cards were neatly stacked in his hand, but all Jacob could do was stare at them and Maxwell's hands. He missed how things had been, missed his sister, but he didn't know how to say that. How to say it without the desperate anger that boiled inside of him and had made it hard not to crumple the cards in his hand.

“We were really close for a long time, but right now I don't even want her around anymore… it might be for the best if she leaves.” It wasn't at all what he wanted, but Jacob knew how to separate necessity from want better than Evie, despite all of what she believed. With a sigh, he drew his hands from Maxwell's grip and gave the cards another try. Performing the trick comparably slow to its actual speed. Absent-mindedly he had listened to the silence which settled over them. “So what makes you think she's older anyway?” Jacob had found himself asking, trying not to get into a huff.

“Why?” Maxwell had smirked. “Isn't her behaviour making it obvious?” Jacob had snorted, lips pressed together, nodding ever so slightly. “It upsets you.” It had been a curious observation and quite telling.

“I'll show you a real Jumping Gemini, alright, she's not older.” Jacob sneered and got up to jump across the small table between them. “Flawless execution,” Jacob smirked, pleased with himself and leaned in to place a kiss on Maxwell's lips.

“When would it have occurred to you to tell me that you have a twin, may I ask my dear?” Max asked with a smirk. 

“Why's that important, she's still my stupid sister.” Jacob rolled his eyes, mirroring the smirk. Allowing Maxwell to pull him onto his lap and into another kiss.

 

_Crawley, April 1875_

For the better part of their lives, it had been Evie cleaning up after him and fixing his mistakes if you were to ask her. That's how their first months in London had went anyway. Now to find himself in a situation that could be dubbed the reverse was amusing at the very least. Frustrated Evie had told him about their failed mission, that she had agreed to take to grant Jacob some time he could spend with his daughter.

The news of the Templar's, Alice's, death and the loss of the manuscript followed soon after from a defeated Tommy Greyling. If it hadn't been for him, Jacob would have done as promised to Evie and sought out Ned. As much faith as he had in the American assassins, nothing would have brought back the Vaynich manuscript faster than ties to its underworld. Ties that Jacob knew Ned had. All that remained now was to pick up the pieces and tie up the loose ends the mission had left them with.

If Alice happened to wash up on the shore of the Thames Freddy had promised to notify them, but that was one of their lesser of evils right now. The museum hadn't taken the news of the manuscript having been fed to the Thames with as much stride as hoped. Not to mention the break-in. At least one of those two would end up in the newspaper despite everything the twins knew.

They made their way outside, away from the stiff air and angry curators, with Jacob playfully gloating. Taking it just a little too far so Evie wound up chasing him outside.

“You're an awful, awful man, Jacob Frye,” she huffed, a little out of breath and gave him a friendly punch to the chest. It knocked the remaining air out of his lungs.

“Not as awful as your tracking skills,” Jacob teased with a smirk. This time he was able to evade her attack by jumping out of reach. Smiling, he studied her, trying to read if he was reading him correctly. “You know I'm joking right…?”

Evie paused, studying him. “Sure you are,” she said, rolling her eyes. “… I...” She neither finished her thought or sentence, taking a moment to think his words over instead and deciding to say nothing at all.

Jacob thought that when she continued their play-fight it was answer enough to his unspoken question. Their father had gone through many futile attempts to stop them from wrestling because it was unladylike and Evie wasn't meant to roll around in the dirt with him and Jacob wasn't meant to encourage it. But there had always been a lot of things they had been able to get away with for being twins.

One of the problems of Evie's plan to take him, Jack and an unspecified number of initiates (among them Clara) to India was that as much as he wanted to he couldn't take Julia with him. Then again a several months long boat trip with a five-year-old didn't seem like something any parent would look forward too. Given that Jack would be gone there was no harm in leaving her in London. But that didn't mean that breaking the news to her was easy. She objected and cried and stomped her little feet and curled her tiny hands into fists, making Jacob wish he could stay. Wish he could take her with him when all he could do was gather her into a hug her till her sobs ebbed away as he rocked her in his arms. Murmuring soothing nothings into her hair till she would listen and let him wipe away her tears.

“Don't go,” Julia protested. “I don't want you to go.”

“I'll come back,” Jacob promised. “I'll come back in no time you'll see.” He swallowed. Thinking that “no time” would be a year at least. More likely two. “And when I'll come back I'll find a nice place for us to live and you never have to say goodbye to me like this again.”

“You'll come back…?” She repeated as sceptic as only a five-year-old could.

“Yes,” Jacob confirmed and nodded. “I'll come back, you won't even notice I'm gone.” He kissed her head. “I'll write you letters and notes and it'll be like your with me…” Jacob attempted a smile, although it broke his heart to see her like this. “And Lewis can help you write letters back to me… You can tell me about all the fun things you'll be doing without me…”

“Still don't want you gone.” She huffed and banged her fist against his chest. “It's not fair!”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed bitter. “It's not fair,” he said and stroked blonde strands of hair out of her face. It would never be fair what he to sacrifice for Jack, but it couldn't be changed now. There wasn't really anything else he could say about that. “We'll go to India one day too, and you can see where your aunt lives and you can try all sorts of new food… and Jack won't be there to take me from you…”

“I saw what he did to Joel,” Julia muttered. She drew a line down her face where Jack had left an ugly scar in the boy's face. “He's bad, he hurt my friend.”

“Yeah, he's bad,” Jacob nodded, running a hand down her back to soothe away any and all anxieties. “He's bad, but I'm trying to help him get better and I think India might help with that...”

With questioning eyes she looked up at him. “I don't understand.”

“My sister's friends in India have different ways of helping people than we do, but I don't know if they will succeed, anyway I have to try...”

“Why?”

Jacob sighed, humming to himself as he thought. “There was once a man who was very dangerous and I don't want Jack to become like him, that's why I want to help Jack.”

“Are you sure?” Julia still frowned at him. Not at all pleased with how this conversation was going. “You don't help much, he still hurts my friends, I hate him, I want him gone.”

Gone. Dead. She didn't say it, but if she were older Jacob was sure that was what she would have suggested. Maybe, in the long run, it would have been the better decision, but Jacob knew he couldn't do it. Not after saving him. Not after seeing himself in him. Not after seeing Max in him. Not even when it meant making a sacrifice this huge against his own daughter. “I'm sorry Julia, I am so sorry…” Jacob told her quietly. “You never have to forgive me for this, but I mean it, I am sorry.”

“Just don't go, I wanna stay with you,” Julia sobbed in response. Another wave of tears rolling down her face.

“I promise, I promise I'll come back you hear me, I wouldn't ever go knowing that I couldn't.” He hugged her tight and buried his face in her hair. Blonde like her mothers. An everlasting reminder. He wouldn't make his father's mistake. “Just wait and see, I'll come back.” In the meantime, she could spend a while with George and the other children at the mill. George sure would happily tell her what a stupid kid he had been. It would lead to more tears and a real goodbye then and Jacob would wait till she had fallen asleep, wrapped up in his patched-up jacket to keep her warm and safe and to remind her of him.

George had watched him all the way through it, even now as he cradled her sleeping body in his arms Jacob could feel his eyes on him. Jacob could almost taste the question he didn't ask, like a lingering kiss. One that he would refrain from because he wasn't that stupid after all. When he turned his head his eyes slowly wandered along George's figure in the door frame. Wetting his lips, Jacob thought better of his actions and looked away again to watch his sleeping daughter. “Of course I'm going to come back,” he said it like a promise, quiet but sure. “I'm not him.”

“No, you're not,” George agreed, stepping closer to sit by his side. There was something in eyes, something hard and cold that made Jacob wonder if George was willing to drag him back to London if he didn't come back as promised.

“Two years, at most – no more,” Jacob assured him. George only nodded. “I'll come back for her if not for anything else...” He said it in a way that allowed no arguing.

“No need to get defensive, I just wanted to hear it.” There was a pause, then George added, “don't think I wasn't cross with Ethan when he came back so sudden, you were the ones who got the letter – not me.”

For a moment Jacob eyed him with curiosity. George had never spoken of the time their father had returned. “You were angry with him? With...” Jacob swallowed the words he didn't want to say, knowing George would understand anyway.

“Of course I was angry with him,” George replied. “My so-called best friend up and left for six years, didn't bother to write me so much as a goodbye note or that he'll come back, then shows up out of the blue, claiming he's found the spirit of parenting by accident and you think I'm not pissed?”

A sound similar to “I don't know” left Jacob's throat as he shrugged. “You never acted like it.”

“Excuse me for not verbally berating my best friend on his bullshit in front of his two young, impressionable children,” George replied with dry wit.

Jacob tried not to smirk. “You win,” he sighed and leaned back. Not wanting to get up and take the train back to London, knowing that he would have to anyway. Not wanting to leave Julia, or George for that matter… But that as a whole was a completely different matter he didn't want to think too much about either. Whatever they were now it involved a respectable distance and no goodbye kisses. Singing quietly Jacob brought Julia to bed.

_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._  
_If turnips were bayonets, I'd wear one by my side._  
_If “if”s and “and”s were pots and pans,_  
_There'd be no use for tinkers' hands._

_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._  
_All dreams and desires would ride alongside._  
_Worries and troubles would fall off behind._  
_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._

Jacob knew what he would wish for if a horse happened to come by with the questionable power to fulfil it. Not to turn back time, just for a kinder ending. Whatever that meant for them. For Maxwell and him.

Humming, Jacob went back downstairs to find George still sitting where he left him. “If wishes were horses, what would you wish for?” Jacob asked into the dimly lit room.

The answers to all questions in the world seemed to be on the tip of his tongue from the way he looked at Jacob. And yet Jacob had a feeling the answers would be all the same. Like a single name or a particular moment in time.

“Me too,” Jacob admitted into the dark. He walked over and kissed him. Short and soft, not at all like them. And because his mind was still running on nursery rhymes it was that he responded with one to the dumbfound expression that George made. “ _Georgie Porgie, puddin' 'n pie, kissed all the girls and made them cry._ ”

“I hate you,” George groaned in quiet agony. But he made no effort to remove Jacob's hands from his face. “I'll make _you_ cry if you say that again to my face.”

“You're so _heartless_ …” Jacob smiled without joy. There was no answer as to why he had kissed him. Not really. He didn't want to be alone was one of the less reasonable ones. To give George something to remember him by on the other hand was more decent but didn't quite excuse it either. “Don't look for an answer where there is none.” He sighed. And George asked neither with words nor with his eyes. So Jacob could go.

He took the night train home, feeling like he had forgotten something. Knowing full well he hadn't and was merely missing Julia's presence. A gap which would soon be filled by an unwilling teenager of thirteen named Jack the lad.

Jack didn't want to go to India, although Jacob had been able to lure him along with what he knew about the fear tactics of the Indian Assassins. Jack didn't want to go to India, so Jacob had been forced to pack his bag for him and drag him to the harbour because he wouldn't go without him and he couldn't go without him. Yet Jacob had decided a long while ago that leaving Jack with no supervision in London was just a straight-up bad idea so there was no getting around it.

Jack would never like him. Likely never trust him and agree with his methods, and Jacob was fine with all of that as long as Jack didn't go on a killing spree that would put Maxwell Roth to shame. Jack didn't have to like him or his teachings, as long as Jacob could make him see the sense in it. He didn't look forward to the endless days they would spend with Jack on a boat when he couldn't sit still anymore, but he wouldn't let Jack know about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed it already the next chapter is gonna take place in India. There's a lot more to say about that chapter than about this one. This one kind of just is.
> 
> Preview for the 30th:  
> » “I… think… we should talk,” Jacob found himself saying.«


	11. The Weight On His Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten chapters plus some just so I could write this one particular scene because my brain insisted it had to happen (more or less) under these particular circumstances. Got some ideas what Jacob wants to talk about? At this point releasing the chapters feels like presenting them to a small audience in a circle of chairs, and like each Sunday I bring the new, freshly printed pages for you to read. I love you my small audience, I feel like I'm not saying this enough, but I really do and I'm happy you're all here.
> 
> For anyone who notoriously doesn't read tags like me cause like they just want the story right away and don't have time for that, bit of a fair warning: Jack has a murder escapade in this one. And we all know that Jack doesn't do murders pretty and clean. I hope I tagged this right if there's anything you'd like me to add, don't be shy, just let me know, I really don't want anyone to be uncomfortable reading this story.

_Bombay, August 1875_

They travelled by ship all the way across the ocean towards Bombay where they arrived on a hot summer afternoon exhausted, but happy to have put the journey behind themselves. Jack had fallen asleep, as well as some of the older assassins. Clara had dozed off watching him practice card tricks, while Jack had been curled up in Jacob's lap. Seasickness forcing him to stay where he was, while Jacob did what he could to ease his suffering. This time around Jack hadn't complained when Jacob had run a hand through his hair and down his back to soothe him, only closed his eyes. Everyone had been blinking awake every now and then just to fall asleep again. Even Evie had fallen asleep in Anima's lap at some point, but now she was wide awake and Jacob too felt the weariness lifted from his shoulders at the sight of the city unfolding beyond the harbour. The journey and being confined on the same closed space had tired all of them, but now in the afternoon sun at the port, it seemed worth all the stress.

He thought of Julia as he carried Jack off the ship, how much he wanted to show her the view. Jack had grown, was far from a kid by now, but he had never gained much weight, so even Jacob had little difficulty carrying him to their destination.

There was still some way to go before they would reach a den of the Indian Brotherhood, so everyone got a hold of the youngest and dragged their tired and stunned selves to their new accommodations. The children – there were four of them, and all around twelve to fourteen, including Jack – and all adults who appeared to be falling asleep standing were put to bed for the time being, while the rest of them wandered the lair to allocate luggage and organise their dinner.

A small group of five assassins had been awaiting their arrival in eager curiosity and were more than willing to help. All of them seemed to be at the very least well acquainted with Henry, Evie and Anima, and Jacob watched smiling as they talked. It was a little hard to follow their conversation when everyone talked so fast, but he liked to say he got of most of what was being said.

Dinner was amusing since most of them barely spoke a lick of Indian, even though Evie and Henry had made sure to teach everyone involved a basic vocabulary while they had travelled to their destination. Common courtesy and questions and yes and no, nothing fancy, but all of it important for a start in everyday life. His own Indian was still as broken as it had been back in London, but he spoke it well enough to get a conversation going. Their conversations were a mix of English, Indian and hand gestures, while people left and right translated so nobody was left out.

Ever since he'd been tagging along to Evie's lessons Jacob hadn't found it all too hard to pick up the language, and in her absence, he had paid the maharajah a visit every now and then so she wouldn't have to be all that disappointed in him upon bringing him to India. Duleep had never once not welcomed him, seemingly fond of the company and the chance to speak his mother tongue. Once or twice he had brought Clara along too after she had expressed her interest in learning a new language.

Evie had always been upset how he had had seemingly no trouble picking up a language, while she had been studying her vocabulary sheets intently. Jacob albeit lacked her intrinsic understanding of grammar, however.

None of the children found it hard to ditch cutlery in favour of eating with their fingers, with everyone else it was a test of trial and error much to the amusement to their Indian brothers and sisters.

Just this once Jack didn't seem to have any trouble sitting still, albeit he stayed close as can be to Jacob. Not so thrilled about having to share a room with more than a dozen other people who kept talking and talking, while he was possibly still feeling a little sick from the boat's ride.

Tired as they were at the end of the day nobody had trouble falling asleep.

They had split them into four groups, each of them including one of the children. Jack, of course, would stay with him, Jacob had made sure of that. Not sure how it would go from here but well aware that he had to keep a close eye on him. All morning Jacob had pored over a map with a fidgeting Jack to make sure he would find him again in the very likely case that Jack would get lost before he had allowed him to run off. The rules were still the same, but by now Jack was rolling his eyes when reciting them. “This isn't London, Jack ... Jack!” But Jack had already been gone before he could finish that sentence. Frustrated Jacob had stared at the empty space left behind.

“ _Not the least like you_ ,” Evie remarked. She had snuck in while he had reminded Jack of his rules Jacob figured because he had been too busy keeping him still to focus on his surroundings.

One rule actually. To stop when the fight was over. But it came with terms. Not to fight a defenceless opponent. (That of course was a situational term. A defenceless blighter was a completely different story to a defenceless child, but Jack had been a good student regarding these differences.) No unnecessary kills. (Mostly because Jack liked to walk around covered in blood for hours on end before either returning home or Jacob found him and forced him to take a bath and change clothes.) No biting off anything. (Jack still liked to come home with a piece of skin between his teeth on some days.)

“I never came home with half a finger in my teeth, Evie.” Jacob scrunched up his face. There would be no training for another week or so. Enough time to get everyone acquainted with the city. Enough time for Jack to cause trouble.

“Come, I want you to meet some of the others.” Evie smiled, reaching out her hand for him to take. With a sigh, Jacob accepted and allowed her to bring him away to be harshly reminded that he was in fact in charge of London and its assassins after all.

He only recognised Nitya who had been among those who had welcomed them. She smiled when he caught her glance as Evie introduced him to her and the others present. The introduction started off with Amara, a tall woman with braided hair, missing a ring finger just like by old practice. Amara had scars on her face, that made her smile look wry but her eyes told him she was pleased to meet him. Then they went on to the assassins who had been picked to oversee their future training. The youngest, Karan, would stay with his own group. Jacob studied him a second, not being able to hide his grin. He had a feeling they would get along just fine. Nitya just like Karan would be one of the trainers, Jacob found out as the other three were introduced to him. Then there was Darshan who turned out to share Evie's interest in the Pieces of Eden and was overseeing their research. Jacob would have liked him to be a lot less handsome. Some more who would work as language trainers where introduced to him and then some more that Jacob later only remembered where important in some way, but his capacity to remember names had been reached so he would have to ask Evie if there was ever an issue.

Jacob liked Karan because he could drink with him and play cards. Jack liked Karan because he didn't think him too young to fight (he wasn't, but Jacob still liked to use that excuse), even better (as Jack thought), he encouraged him. But as much as Jacob wanted to object – he couldn't. Thinking that maybe Karan was what Jack needed. Somebody who didn't see Maxwell Roth in his every behaviour. Someone more lenient and not as strict. Perhaps a friend even. So Jacob allowed it. Turning a blind eye or two, when he felt like he shouldn't in their presence. Jack didn't have to like him for what he did, but Jacob would have liked it better if Jack knew he wasn't being strict to hurt him. It was the least of what he wanted, even though it more than often felt like it when Jack asked and asked and asked. Always asked the same thing.

_When._

Still _when_.

Not now, was the answer. Not now. Something about the thought of allowing Jack a target didn't sit right with Jacob, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He wanted to believe it had to do with Maxwell, but in the long run, he wasn't so sure of that.

From atop the roof, Jacob watched Karan and Jack talking, boasting and wrestling in a back alley of the assassin den they were staying at.

“I didn't know you had a child,” Nitya remarked with raised brows. Her arm gestured towards where Jack and Karan and where standing.

Her sudden arrival had almost startled him. He was getting too used to the noisy footsteps of children Jacob mused, shooting her a quick glance. “I don't...” He replied, almost hesitantly. Again his eyes darted towards her when he noticed how she moved to sit beside him. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Jacob closed his eyes, noticed how she sat almost too close. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after my best friend's baby brother.” Nitya pulled up her legs to hug them. “And you?”

“Looking after my adoptive son...” It was as close to the truth as he would allow her to get. When she met his gaze Jacob smiled, regarding her for a moment.

She was pretty with her short dark hair, that reached down to her chin and the way her hands and forearms had been decorated intricately with dark paint. Involuntarily drawing the attention of his eyes. Making him wonder where they ended and what the rest of the design on her feet looked like that he could see peeking out from the top of her shoes. When she smiled her eyes were kind, warm, deep pools.

Jacob wanted to her to stay but didn't know how to ask for that. Instead, he averted his eyes. Karan had noticed them and waved now. Nitya waved back. Jack only scowled. “Come, we'll let them be, I just wanted to see him, make sure he didn't miraculously die… y'know...” She waved her hand, then touched his shoulder as she got up, and there was a warmth in the way she looked at him that suffocated all protests Jacob might have had because he liked the idea of someone actually wanting him around.

 

_Bombay, September 1875_

Unexpectedly calm Jacob was able to face Darshan a couple weeks later when he inquired about any books the Indian Brotherhood had about the eagle vision. Hoping they would contain information he didn't already have. Hoping they could help him with Jack more than with himself. Now that he was older Jack's eagle vision wasn't rendering him useless every now and then anymore, but Jacob didn't need to look hard to see that Jack was suffering from what he couldn't control. How it exhausted him each time it happened.

As of now, he was still undecided whether or not to tell anyone about Jack's condition. Although talking with Darshan came easy, making him appear trustworthy and Jacob could feel the words wanting to be spoken weighing down on his tongue.

Twice Nitya had visited them in the past weeks, and Jacob already found himself looking forward to her next arrival. Always she would check in with Karan and then come talk to him for a while. Always gone before he could get a hold of her. Wishing that she wouldn't, somehow sure that she could read that on his face.

So the first attempt to talk to Evie went by in a distracting flicker. (Because it wasn't all that important after all, and what was the point in talking to her about Maxwell anyway.)

The second attempt passed because he couldn't get a word out. Not even knowing where to even begin. Feeling uncharacteristically anxious. And in retrospect stupid.

That night he would have, but instead, he went with Nitya because she invited him along on a mission for company and they ended up falling asleep side by side in one of the cities many assassin dens. The mission had been a success and neither of them had bothered to find a bed, so they had crashed on the first comfortable surface. Jacob woke up thinking how he didn't want to go to sleep alone again. He had never slept very well on his own either.

Sunlight woke him in the early hours of the morning but Jacob just rolled over, barely registering that he was too close for personal space and asleep again before Nitya could complain. She wasn't there when he woke up again, but her pillows where still warm where she had been, leaving Jacob content with the ghostly image of her presence.

It was easy to forget in Nitya's presence that he meant to talk to Evie. It was even easier to fall asleep close to her and forget all the worries Karan was kicking loose whenever he was training with Jack. (Jacob thought he was way too eager about the spikes and fear bombs, but he held his tongue.) Lured in by the warmth of her eyes it was too easy to look the other way and Jacob even had to admit he did so gladly after having spent half a decade worrying about Jack. Feeling some of the weight he'd been carrying slip from his shoulders.

Saying he had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel this content just being near someone wasn't quite true. Evie was proof of that, but Evie was also his sister. This was closer to what he had felt around Maxwell, but still not quite the same. And then there was George, who he didn't want to think about at all. And he didn't really feel for Nitya what he felt for George or had felt for Maxwell, but he didn't know what to name it either.

 

_Bombay, February 1876_

Evie had taken him along on a mission which had involved little more than scouting and listening and following, and while all that wasn't very exciting it was nice to spend some time with his sister. (Who was more than excited about what the breadcrumbs they were following promised since it was supposed to lead them to a new Piece of Eden because apparently finding one hadn't been enough for a lifetime.)

The quiet which had greeted him upon return had been almost unsettling, till footsteps scurried downstairs, but it wasn't Karan or Jack (who didn't run up to him upon return anyway), but Nitya. “Where is everyone?” Jacob asked, not unhappy to see her, merely confused at the absence of most of the others. Now that he was scanning the surrounding rooms he had found a couple assassins. But one of them was asleep and the other two busy arguing about whatever.

“Causing trouble, carousing… I don't know what Karan and Jack are up to, but it can't be anything good,” Nitya answered him with a sigh. “Karan wanted to show Jack and some of the others around town.” She paused. “You don't seem too happy about that.”

Jacob tried to shrug that off, but judging by the look on her face it wasn't very convincing. “I'm probably wrong, forget about it,” he said, trying to avoid a conversation about Jack. But the look in her eyes made it hard not to speak, and Jacob allowed her to take his hand and lead him somewhere where they could sit and talk in peace. “Why are you doing this?”

Nitya sat in silence for a moment. Hands on her knees she stared off into the distance, then shrugged. “You look tired like you're going to fall over any second,” she said with a kind smile.

“Do I?” Jacob mused. Returning the smile he leaned back and stretched out his legs to get more comfortable.

Nitya leaned sideways against the back of the couch. “What happened that you can't let Jack out of your sight…?” Her hand reached out to touch his arm. Comforting. Encouraging. “Don't look so worried, he'll be fine.”

Jacob closed his eyes when her fingers brushed his cheek, soaking in the warmth of her touch, but before he could lean into her touch it was gone again. “I'm not scared of what might happen to him,” Jacob sighed. “I'm scared of what he might do.”

“And what is that?” Nitya inquired. She had made herself comfortable, closed her eyes for a moment.

“Kill somebody…” He looked at her, searching for a sign of understanding.

“I think Jack can handle a few thugs.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she pushed black strands of hair out of her face.

Nitya meant to assure him, he could tell by the expression on her face. Under different circumstances, her wording might have even made him laugh. “Someone _innocent_ ,” Jacob clarified instead, clearing his throat. “You don't know the half of what he's like, _really_ like…” She didn't need to say anything to pull the words he kept so closely guarded from his throat. Her presence alone was reassuring enough. Or perhaps it was because she was all things considered a stranger to his life and talking to strangers was always easier. “I saw him beat another child to a pulp when he was eight, I think the kid was around five… maybe six, was hard to tell, when he was around nine or ten he bit off a partial ear of some older kid his age now, or maybe a young adult I don't know I wasn't there, but he came home with a mouth all bloody – holding it like a trophy, proud and full of satisfaction, convinced that I would let him kill… there isn't a day he doesn't show up with knuckles bruised and bloody and scratches on his face and knees and I don't even want to ask anymore because I can't hear it anymore… and I- I don't know what to do anymore, he's just a kid at the end of the day… he doesn't deserve to be locked up.” Jacob ran a hand down his face. “But he _enjoys_ it...”

Her brows had furrowed while she had listened. Quiet now that Jacob had fallen into silence, playing with her hand like he would have with Evie's to keep his thoughts focused. There wasn't anything she could have said and maybe she knew that, but most likely Nitya just didn't know what to say. Absent-minded he drew lines onto the palm of her hand with his index finger.

“What's that supposed to be?” Nitya mused with a smile. Curling her fingers she tried to trap his.

Jacob blinked, somewhat confused, then shrugged. He hadn't paid much attention to what he had been doing, much less to how it might be perceived by anyone who wasn't his sister and very much used to the invasion of personal space. Awkwardly he withdrew his hand, averting his gaze from her amused twinkle. “I think Jack likes your fear tactics too much,” he continued instead, “I've never seen him this excited about something that well… didn't involve weapons in the first place.”

“What _does_ he like?”

“I wish I knew,” Jacob sighed, “… beating the living shit out of others I guess.” Jack had never liked to play games like Julia did. Hadn't liked other people in the first place. Had never liked much of anything. Hadn't liked him either. But that was okay. All of that was okay as long as Jack stayed in line, Jacob thought. It was late and his day had been long. Wanting to ask her to stay, at least till he fell asleep so he wouldn't have to think about Jack, but not knowing how to.

“You're going to fall asleep,” Nitya pointed out, almost amused.

Agreeing Jacob hummed. “Bring me to bed if it bothers you I'm not moving.”

“That looks honestly uncomfortable,” she pointed out and Jacob managed to open an eye to squint at her. She laughed quietly.

“Do I look like I care?” He asked and she shook her head, laughing again as she agreed. “Why,” Jacob groaned as Nitya decided to heed his words and drag him off the couch. She met his disgruntlement with a charming smile that was unfairly disarming.

Jacob didn't remember much after that he must have fallen asleep right as his head hit the pillow. Not at all perturbed by the fire, which had made an unwelcome disturbing comeback ever since he had set his mind on telling Evie about Maxwell. 

“You fell asleep.” Nitya sounded amused and not in the least offended, while Jacob's tired mind wondered if she had stayed or left and come back to check in on him. Not quite certain whether or not it had been her who had woken him.

“Good morning to you too,” Jacob murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Wasn't that the point?” He asked while Nitya weighed her head. He did have a vague memory of walking up the stairs, but no more. There was something he found so entirely relaxing about just being close to her that had made it hard not to.

“I was terribly bored,” Nitya retorted sulking.

“And that's my problem because…?” Jacob couldn't help the smirk that showed on his face. 

Leaning on her arm Nitya watched him. Without the hood in broad daylight, Jacob could see a scar running along her neck up to the right side of her chin. It showed a reddish tint and when his finger traced the line back, he found that it disappeared beneath her clothes. She noticed his eyes lingering on it but made no effort to hide it. “Nosy,” she declared instead and pinched his nose.

“I didn't even say anything!” Jacob shot back, then paused. “It doesn't hurt, does it?”

“Not anymore,” Nitya replied. She let herself fall onto her back, closing her eyes and Jacob allowed her moment of peace as he was still tired and wouldn't mind to continue sleeping for another while.

 

_Bombay, June 1876_

Jacob felt better knowing where Jack was and what he was doing. Jacob felt better keeping an eye on him. Especially with Karan around. Who didn't seem to think anything of it that Nitya decided to spend most of her free time here now instead of the group which she had been assigned to outside their training sessions. From the way he acted, he seemed to be used to having her around.

It was hard to say what Jack made of her presence, other than that he wasn't pleased to see her around Jacob. Not that he ever liked sharing him with anyone for any reason in the first place. (Evie only seemed to get a pass because she had been there before him.) He seemed to like Karan, but not enough to spend every waking hour with him. Sometimes when Jack thought he wasn't looking, Jacob saw him eyeing Karan with a craving for blood.

“Jack!” Jacob put a sharpness into his tone that didn't allow objection. “Come here.” Softer now. Not to chase him away. Show that he wasn't angry with him, just wanted his attention. “Sit,” Jacob said, gesturing at the other side of the table he was sitting at.

With caution in his eyes, Jack sat. He had a bloody lip, but when didn't he?

For a moment Jacob couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of Jack killing a guard or a blighter and never telling him. How on earth did you ask a fourteen-year-old if he wanted to kill? “Let's make a deal Jack – I'm going to ask Amara for a target – _one that you can handle_ ,” Jack's eyes widened half in surprise, half drunk with greed and triumph, “and you're to forget about whatever you've been thinking about doing to Karan.” Jack's eyes narrowed. “ _You leave him alone_ ,” Jacob insisted with hard eyes.

He waited for Jack to nod. No other sign of understanding that wasn't verbal was accepted here. If Jack chose to kill Karan it would be his first and last kill. Jacob would make sure of that, knowing that it would force him to kill Jack no matter if he wanted to or not. (He didn't want to, Maxwell had left a scar too deep.)

Nitya had agreed to accompany him, although she stated that it would take little convincing if all he required was a single insignificant target. Which there were plenty of if they counted all the guards, but guards weren't what Jack was looking for and a high profile kill wasn't what Jacob was looking for. The man they agreed on was an informant, a middleman not important enough to be missed by anyone important and easily replaced. Just the sort that Jack could mangle without raising suspicion among the Templars.

As much as he had wanted Nitya to come along, he had told her to stay behind and wait for him. Surprised, but glad that she didn't insist. Jack wouldn't take kindly to a third party intruding on this important moment of his life. It would be hard enough for him to have Jacob hovering over him at any given moment. Although Jacob was trying to keep his distance.

For several days now Jacob had stalked the informant. Trying to find an opening in his schedule, an opportunity for a kill that would allow Jack to… well, be Jack. Who had kept his promise against all odds, so Jacob was forced to carry through his own. Which was why he now had Jack scurrying along his side on the rooftops with impatient excitement. Any other time Jacob might have tried to joke about how eager his initiate was to prove himself, but he had the ugly feeling that it wasn't about that for Jack. Not when he knew how ruthlessly he fought.

They were making good time and it didn't take long for Jack's unfortunate target to come into view in an empty alley.

There was no time to say or do anything because Jack was already on him. His kukri flashed silver in the pale light of the moon and blood was soaking the informant's clothes. Dark, wet, heavy. Swift and deadly Jack's blade came for him. One stroke, two strokes, three strokes. A dance where blood spilt onto the floor with every step. – Jacob knew he had to interfere, force Jack to finish him off quickly. But he couldn't. Mesmerised and frozen he kept staring.

Regret and the realisation that his opponent was stronger followed quickly for Jack. Again Jacob's mind screamed at him to move. Move and do something. Anything to put an end to it.

With brute force, Jack finished off his kill. Making it bloody and messy. Guts spilling. Blood pooling on the ground beneath. And Jacob thought he couldn't explain that to anyone.

Down and down again the kukri went. Long dead the informant, Jack must have been aware of that but he kept hacking at the corpse in anger and frustration about his own miscalculation.

“That's enough, Jack,” Jacob spoke softly. Placing a hand on his shoulder. Not certain when his body had decided to start to move from the rooftop and join Jack in the alleyway. “That's enough.” He repeated, kneeling down close behind him to take Jack's hand that was wielding the knife. Reaching around his torso to keep Jack still, only had Jack clawing his nails into the hand that meant to keep him still. Trying to push with all his strength against Jacob's arm that kept his knife still. The only way that Jacob could think of to calm him down.

“He's dead, Jack,” Jacob continued. “You've done your work, you can rest now… you did well...” Jacob would have stroked his hair if he hadn't been busy keeping him still.

Perplexed Jack made a guttural sound when Jacob forced him to stand up and take a look at his victim. Or work. It was a matter of view. A momentary struggle allowed Jack to free his hand. The look in his eyes told that his actions were deliberate when he plunged his kukri into Jacob's thigh to free himself entirely from his grip.

Forcing down a scream of pain Jacob ground his teeth, grunting as he clutched the wound. Already staggering to keep his balance as the blood soaked through his pants. “Jack…!” It could have been a warning just as much as an expression of frustration and anger.

Jack's silhouette moved, but only to turn his head and look at him for a moment. Probably deciding that he wasn't a threat, before turning back to stare at his victim. His dumbfound expression showed a spark of joy and calm – relaxation almost, but the pain made reading him difficult.

His vision went black for a moment. Jacob blinked. Knowing that he had to stop the bleeding. Although he later couldn't say how he had accomplished that or how he had made it back to Nitya and into bed. Pain had clouded his judgement and memory.

The next clear moment Jacob had was when he woke up thirsty and exhausted in the middle of the night. He must have slept no more than two or three hours – certainly felt like it. Beside him Nitya slept soundly, hugging his arm as the pain kept piercing his thigh. It wasn't as bad as before, but bad enough to consider staying in bed. Somewhere in the hallway where footsteps, but he paid them no mind. With care Jacob extracted his arm as he sat up, assuring himself that Nitya was asleep when he ran his fingers through her hair.

Slow and with care Jacob managed to get up without yelping in pain, which he counted as a tremendous accomplishment. Just as slow he preceded to make it across the floor till he found his coat. Balancing on one leg he picked it up and searched the pockets for his flask. It would have to do. It would help with the pain too.

If it hadn't been for Evie he would have gone straight back to bed, but now he could only blink at her figure in the doorway.

“I was told I could find you here,” she said softly. “I heard what happened, are you okay?”

Jacob pulled a face, watching her eyes dart past him towards the bed he'd shared. “Hurts like hell, to be honest, but I think I'll be fine...” Jacob opened his flask and drank, feeling the alcohol burn his throat and feeling better almost instantly. “What did you hear?” He questioned. Not sure what he had told in his haze of pain.

“Jack said the informant wasn't alone, how you got injured protecting him.” Evie recited as if she had memorised the story.

Wordless Jacob stared at her. Realising that he was nodding before he had thought of an answer. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was how tired he felt. Maybe the fact that she had been worried about him and he could read it all over her freckled face. Maybe… “I… think… we should talk,” Jacob found himself saying. He took a step forward, almost immediately regretting the action but not bothered enough by the pain to give up standing.

“About what?” Evie asked. Her tone gentle but inquiring.

Jacob couldn't help but shrug. “A lot of things...” His gaze fell momentarily. _Maxwell Roth for a start_. “Somewhere more private...”

A moment long Evie considered him, considered his proposal, then she nodded and lead the way. Allowing him to keep up by keeping her steps slow.

They found themselves atop the assassin den. Evie had helped him make it from the ledge to the roof. Now that he could see the sky, he could see that morning would come soon and for a moment Jacob caught himself wondering what time it might be in London now, whether Julia was awake or asleep. How Lewis and George and the Rooks were doing. And Clara's children. All of them. With a sigh, he followed Evie to where someone had set up a small camp for a lookout or guard of theirs or perhaps to simply enjoy the view. Only now becoming aware of how taxing it had been for him to drag his body here. 

“I lied to you...” Jacob sighed as he sank down against a near wall, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to will the pain away. His leg throbbed with pain but right at this moment, it was more than secondary to Jacob. As many times as he had played through this conversation in his head the only thing he ever found himself certain of was that Evie wouldn't like what he had to say. Even now as she sat cross-legged across from his he could see the corners of her mouth sink. Jacob snorted. “You don't like that, go figure… not ideal to start a conversation, I know.”

Drawing his healthy leg close, Jacob considered finding another way to start this conversation. Knowing that there was no right way at all. “I didn't lie when I said I didn't mean to accept Maxwell's invitation… but I lied in pretending that nothing came of it.” Jacob paused, uncertain what to make of the fact that Evie remained quiet. From the way she looked at him, she didn't seem to consider homicide within the next moments so Jacob considered it safe to keep talking.

But just when he had worked up the courage and found the words to continue she spoke. “What do you mean you _pretended_ nothing ever came of it? Nothing ever happened.”

Jacob couldn't help but laugh to himself. “You think that because blowing up Starrick's shipments, disposing of his henchmen and wreaking havoc in his factories and general domain is exactly what I was doing anyway.” He smiled.

“I don't understand.” Evie frowned.

“The night I met Maxwell Roth he proposed a deal to me… he and I work together, he helps me bring Starrick down – _cause Starrick some pain_ , that's how he said it – but if he proves to be of no help, in other words, if he had lied, I got to kill him.”

“Well,” Evie raised her brows, “he's dead, so he lied I reckon.” And all it would have taken would have been a yes and the conversation would have been over, but it wouldn't come over his lips.

Instead, the smile on Jacob's lips turned wry then bitter then faded as he shook his head. “He didn't lie, neither was it an act, he was dangerous from the very moment I met him, I just… I guess I thought I could stop him.” A foolish thought in retrospect. Jacob could read the question on her tongue even before she spoke it.

“Then _why?_ I know you were never that stupid to blindly trust a Templar, he must've–” _Given you a reason to trust him_. Surely she would have said something like that.

“Wasn't–” Jacob interrupted her. “Wasn't a templar, Templars don't talk about freedom like it's a God-given right you have to defend tooth and nail, he just happened to work for Starrick, and we were too much alike, me and him, for you to come around, I guess I could have convinced Henry, but you...” Jacob shook his head. “Never… not back then.” It was easy to disagree now with an emotional distance to the events.

Evie shrugged in a manner that spoke more of agreement than anything else, while Jacob tried to ignore the pain in his leg. Feeling slightly better when he placed a palm over the aching wound. “Why did you kill him if he helped us?”

His mouth opened, but after pondering for a while he returned the shrug. “He was dangerous… and _I wasn't enough to stop him–_ ”

“– but you killed him.” She reminded him.

“Because _I couldn't_ stop him from blowing up a factory full of children,” Jacob responded. Almost exasperated. Almost raising his voice. “How can I let anyone with that little regard for life itself live, no matter...” He stopped, drawing his lips taunt, not knowing how to go on. “Even his favour wasn't enough to make him stop and think, killing him was the only solution I saw.” Perhaps there had been a way, perhaps there hadn't, but Jacob couldn't admit either because Maxwell was dead and that left no room for doubts about his actions.

Evie raised a brow, conveying every question that remained unspoken in her expression. Conveying her confusion. “You considered him _a friend_.” She stated, thinking her words over for a moment. “No, I wouldn't have approved of that if you had continued wreaking havoc in London, especially with his help, but you should have known he wasn't a friend of our cause, that you would have to kill him sooner or later, just like we had to part with the Queen.”

“I knew that, Evie.” Jacob couldn't help but to sound a little irritated. “I knew that all along...” But Maxwell had caught him off guard.

“I'm sorry, I didn't… I'm not angry with you, not anymore, I don't want what happened back then to stand between us now, I've forgiven you for the chaos and I'm glad you're being honest with me, you should have told me sooner, you did the right thing, Jacob, both times – when you accepted his offer and when you killed him.”

Smiling Jacob leaned his head against the cold wall, closing his eyes for a moment. For so long he had longed to hear those words from her, but now he couldn't even fully appreciate them. “I'm not telling you to get your approval,” he said, “I just couldn't for so long, then I didn't want to for a while… I just like to know I can talk to you about everything under the sun, and it's bothering me...” It made the rift between them feel so small and insignificant like it had never existed. A feeling he saw reciprocated in her eyes.

Jacob sighed, folding his arms. Not knowing how to go on from here, full well knowing that it was only half the truth. A feeling that Evie seemed to read in his eyes when she exclaimed, “oh no.” She scrutinised him. “Don't tell me there's more, alright out with it you're making horror stories come alive for me every moment you're not talking.”

Snorting Jacob shook his head, only to stop mid-way even though she had almost made him laugh. “It's not a horror story, it's a tragedy but it has its horrors...” There was a pause. “It's a tragedy because Maxwell loved me and I would have needed to be blind and deaf and stupid not to realise it when he had mouthfuls of endearments, compliments and warnings to be careful for me and there was a time I thought it was more than enough to keep him on our side… on my side at least...” He closed his eyes, swallowing the ache that came along with the memories it brought along.

Jacob allowed however much time she needed to let that sink in with every possibility it was meant to hold. “What are you trying to tell me...”

Scratching his neck Jacob swallowed, he hadn't imagined this to be easy but his anxiousness made him feel stupid nonetheless. It was only Evie he was talking to after all. His stupid sister who had wrestled him over the last slice of pie when they had been children and wouldn't ever miss a chance to needle him.“I… might have… er...” He glanced at her. Out with it, her eyes demanded. “You're not going to like this,” Jacob replied dryly.

“What could possibly be worse than you causing mayhem in London with Maxwell Roth, it's not like you shared his bed-”

“Evie!”

“What?!”

“Don't act like that!” _Like what?_ Her face asked and Jacob rolled his eyes. “Like you actually have faith that I'm capable of responsibility.” Jacob sighed, pressing a hand to his mouth because it made him laugh and he didn't want to.

“I am going to take away your children if you don't get your act together.” It was an empty threat. For the most part. Jacob had no intentions of pushing his luck, however.

Instead, he took a breath, deep and slow to chase away whatever little monster had taken hold of his tongue. “Actually just that, I slept with him… _there you have it_.” The words came out easier than expected, although Jacob could feel his pulse rising with every second that Evie didn't speak. She didn't need to. Sighing deeply Jacob raised his arms in a shrug. “I told you, you wouldn't like it.”

“Why is it necessary for me to have this information?” Evie ground out, equal amounts perplexed and exasperated. “You are giving my worries anxiety, what the hell compelled you- please don't tell me that's how you- oh God...” She groaned burying her face in her hands. “Why are you forcing me to think about this, I don't want to think about this.” She lifted her head, scrutinising him with a look that took him a while to decipher when the pain made it hard to think for extended periods of time.

“I... what- no!” Of course he hadn't seduced Maxwell to gain an advantage. A though more than ridiculous on several levels. “It just happened, I don't know, stop looking at me like that, I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking, I don't know, that was confusing, but… but...” Jacob swallowed and shrugged. “But… he made me feel wanted, and like I wasn't just running riot on a rampage no matter my actions because that's been pretty much the undertone of my life till father died and then you had to decide to pick up where he left off so excuse me for deciding that I liked Maxwell Roth better because that really wasn't a hard match, I'm not going to apologise for wanting someone to be on my side, because you didn't seem to care, not like I _ever_ counted on that…” Jacob slowly shook his head, “I'm not sure of many things, but I'm sure that Maxwell loved me, and whatever happened, happened because I wanted it to and I'm not asking for your approval… which at this point would just be ridiculous anyway... just...” Maxwell had been eating away at him for so long that it almost didn't matter anymore whether he spoke about it or not, but Evie was the only one where he still cared whether she knew or not.

Evie had grown uncharacteristically quiet the longer he spoke and the more upset he became. She didn't speak for another long while, allowing his words to settle their full weight between them.

“Were you… in love?” She asked quietly, almost dumbfound, tentatively searching for an answer in his eyes.

It was the first time anyone had actually asked him. The first time Jacob couldn't shove that question into the depths of his mind before it began seriously haunting him. Even now admitting the truth hurt, and it showed in the way his face drooped and he attempted to avoid the question by facing away. “For a lack of a better word for it... yes... I think so.” Maybe it really was the pain lowering his inhibitions making it easy to talk about all the things he didn't want to admit to himself sober and in broad daylight. “I never really questioned what happened between us… even when I knew I should have because he was older and worked for Starrick and it could have all been a farce, but that was so easy to forget and ignore… and I didn't want it to be a farce, and I didn't want him to blow up that factory and there are days I want to wish he didn't, but it doesn't matter because he did and I killed him.” His throat was closing up and Jacob had to stop talking or risk getting out no more than guttural sounds of frustration and despair.

Maxwell had given him a place to be. A feeling of belonging, acceptance… love. All the things Jacob had longed for encompassed in a single human being. And he wished he hadn't killed him. And he wished the realisation didn't make him want to cry. And he wished feeling like he wanted to cry didn't make him want to be with Evie.

Fiercely Jacob blinked away the sting from his eyes. Shoulders slumped his gaze lowered to the floor. The question he had wanted to ask since forever heavy on his tongue, demanding to be spoken. “What do I do, Evie?”

There wasn't an answer now, and there hadn't been an answer back then, but instead of dishing out verbal backlash Evie crawled close to make herself comfortable at his side. Hooking one of her legs over his healthy one and leaning her head onto his shoulder. It was a simple message. I am here with you. Touches had always been easier for them to communicate, Jacob thought when he leaned his head against hers. Distance had always spoken a great deal for them too.

“Was…is… do you… where there others, or was it just him?” Evie attempted to glance at his face, but with little success. “Anima was there for me when I was at a low and everything just kind of happened, so I think I know what you're saying.”

“Evidently,” Jacob sighed. “No, Maxwell wasn't an exception, unless you're asking if anyone else excels at haunting me then no, thankfully he is the only one, I can't deal with that twice.” Any and all reminders of Corvus the Trickster still sent chills up his spine. Not to mention the emotional toll.

Idly Jacob drew swirls onto her shoulder. “I miss Julia.” He admitted quietly trying to change the topic. Not because there wasn't more to talk about, but because he didn't know how or if he even wanted to. “I promised I'd find a way for her to live with me when I got back…” If only he knew how to do that.

Evie seemed to read his thoughts right off his lips when she looked at him. “If you bring her here she could live with me, I'd keep her safe.”

“I know you would,” Jacob smiled. “You kept me safe...” But that wasn't the root of his problems, he thought as he stared at the hand on his leg. All it would take were a few words and Evie would… Evie would know what to do. She always did, but he didn't want her to solve his problems. Because she always had and Jack wasn't another problem for her to fix in his life. “What?” Jacob asked when she tapped her foot against his calf. Instead of saying anything Evie merely tapped his leg again. “Evie...”

“Tell me...” she glanced up at him, “tell me about Maxwell.” When he raised a brow and looked at her in question she laughed a little, “what? I need to hear everything about my darling baby brother's first boyfriend-”

“ _Four minutes!_ ” Jacob groaned in exasperation. “Bloody hell, would you stop it, it's not like I will ever forget.” He didn't feel up for the teasing her words insinuated, but he didn't have the strength to argue her out of it.

“Tell me what he was like, and I might consider forgetting about it,” a sweet, innocent smile graced Evie's face as she moved to sit and support herself on her hands so she could look him better in the eye. “What striking qualities did this man have to offer?”

“Evie!” Jacob replied in mock offence of her questions.

Again she laughed and was scooting closer now. “Oh, c'mon, he must have had something to make up for his face,” Evie smirked. “Didn't he have a huge scar? I recall something like that...” Pondering she frowned.

“He didn't need to make up for his face because I liked seeing it way more than yours anyway,” Jacob replied with a haughty look and folded arms. “And I liked the scars.” It had been many. A cut and burn. The scrape of a bullet grazing his face and some more. Another cleaner cut on the left side of his face going over the edge of his jaw. Jacob had spent enough time tracing them to know them by heart. But he wasn't going to let her know that.

He could see Evie rolling her eyes, but she smiled all the same. “You haven't really answered my question, Jacob Frye.” But Jacob remained silent, not really knowing what to say when nobody had ever asked him what he had liked so much about Maxwell, and when he hadn't really wanted to think about that after his death either. “I do want to know,” Evie admitted quietly and Jacob found himself searching her face for a long moment.

“Really?” Jacob wasn't so sure what to make of her interest, but Evie nodded albeit very carefully.

“I want to understand what was going on,” she admitted quietly, “I'll try to.” This time it was her who searched his face, leaving Jacob to wonder if she was finding what she was looking for.

A little smile played around the corners of his mouth. Weary from pain as he felt, Evie's awkward attempt to make peace with him was oddly endearing. “You don't have to,” Jacob reminded her quietly, he didn't exactly feel like picking at old scabs either. Although it was a relief to know that he could talk to her if he wanted to.

“I know,” Evie replied, leaning in close so her head was on his shoulder and his was leaning against hers. “So… tell me,” she inquired softly this time, “what was he like…?” And Jacob could only smile, as he tried to put into words all that had made Maxwell so irresistibly charming. He didn't really know how to tell her that anyway, but Evie listened, quiet and attentive and very charming in her own way in that moment.

 

_Bombay, July 1876_

The fact that Jack had been avoiding him hadn't been improved by the fact that he had stabbed him in the leg, slowing Jacob a considerable amount. It neither helped that since Jack was avoiding him and Jacob could catch up to him he decided to spend his time with whoever was willing to alleviate his boredom. Which happened to be Clara who was paying him visits since the injury to spend some time with a familiar face.

Clara had been lounging on a chair, missing England's chilly weather and cloudy days, and Jacob couldn't help but notice how the sun made her freckles stand out like never before. She didn't like that either, and she asked him about Darshan and the research they had been discussing. 

Once Jack thought him to be busy it was easy to catch him unaware, however. Or maybe that was simply because Jacob had become used to adjusting to him.

Disgruntled Jack looked up from where he was sitting, only acknowledging his presence now that Jacob was close enough to block the light in his view. “We need to talk,” Jacob said and sat down across from him. He stretched out his injured leg to alleviate the pain that walking inflicted on it. He scrutinised Jack. Jack with dirty hair and a dusty face and patched up clothes, scraping the dirt off beneath his nails with a throwing knife. “Do you know what people expect when you stab them in the leg?” Jacob continued when Jack made no effort to speak. Not that he had expected him to say anything.

“An apology,” Jack replied nonchalantly. His eyes flicked up to give Jacob a quick glance, then he looked back at his nails. 

“Good,” Jacob replied. He noticed fresh scabs on Jack's wrist. Noticed a bruise on his arm, but only because Jack had rolled up his sleeves. “Because if you ever do that to anyone else, I'll make sure you bloody do, do you understand that?” Jack looked up again, then nodded, then continued cleaning his nails. But when he opened his mouth Jacob cut him off with a wave of his hand, “you don't have to force yourself with me… all I wanna know is why.”

Jack paused, perhaps deliberately, chewing on his lip. The good side because now that he did Jacob noticed how it had been bleeding a few days past and hadn't quite healed yet. Eventually, Jack shrugged. “It was my kill.” He pointed out.

“You had killed him,” Jacob responded matter-of-factly.

“Why do I have to stop if he's dead?”

“You didn't want to stop?” Jacob tried to hold back his surprise, feeling stupid for it the moment it came over him. Of course, Jack hadn't wanted to stop. He sighed, deeply. “This isn't our home Jack… we can't compromise their Brotherhood.” That only made Jack frown, but he didn't argue. Still, he looked at him with questioning eyes that carried a weariness much older than fifteen years. “I'm not mad at you Jack…” Jacob sighed, softly and stood slowly. “I know I'm not doing everything right, and I don't need you to forgive me for when I fuck up, but I'm doing my best so you can have a somewhat normal life despite whatever it is… inside there.” Slowly Jacob had gotten up and stepped forward, gently placed a hand Jack's head. “You are the way you are and I'm trying to give you a life that you can live, one that's not so harsh, one that keeps you alive, one where you can hopefully be yourself to some degree… and I hope that you will remember that on the days you hate me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Nitya are the embodiment of "how long does your ideal hug last?" "45 minutes" "where have you been all my life?!" but they are awkward and don't know how to communicate that properly.
> 
> Preview for the 6th:  
> »Pressing his trembling mouth together Jack nodded.«


	12. Honest Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in India, but hold on and hold out when the next update rolls around we're gonna be in London again. Also, Jacob's flashbacks with Maxwell are not in chronological order. I'm not sure if that was clear. It was more or less an accident that the stuff with George happened in chronological order. I wrote them in whichever order they came to mind and what I thought was a missing piece. So. Here we are now.

_Bombay, August 1876_

Lying was a thing Jacob was used to. White lies just as much as those of larger consequence. Most of them came easy to Jacob, others not, but if needed he was able to tell them anyway.

White lies he kept telling to Evie, to Julia, to Clara and Jack. Inconsequential lies, like about how he was fine or not tired, or not grieving or scared or worried. How the blood shouldn't make them worry and how he couldn't give Jack a target because he was still a kid. The latter he had told for the longest time now of course, but that was a matter for another day.

“What happened to my mother?” The question struck with fierce precision. A target long since painted. Since Jack had been a child. He still was in some ways, but then again not. He was much older now, but not quite an adult either.

One day he would ask, Jacob had known. Sooner or later all children asked about their parents. It was the natural order of things and Jacob had been surprised that Jack had never asked any sooner. Surprised and glad because they were miles away from London and all which had caused him all his trouble.

“No, don't answer that,” said the gesture Jack made when Jacob peered up from behind the files Darshan had given him. Loose notes and accounts about the eagle sense unburied from the depths of the Indian archive. They contained little new but Jacob had decided to read them anyway. “I know what happened,” Jack said, frowning and straightening himself. He sat on a chair close to Jacob's bed, previously occupied by Clara and Darshan. “She's dead, I know that… I dream of her...” He rubbed his eyes as if trying to get an image out of his head. “There's so much blood…” He shook his head, then blinked and grimaced. “How… _why…?_ ” Jack's eyes fixed on him.

Jacob had lowered the files onto his chest, idly dragging a foot that hung off his bed across the wooden floor. The wound was making him restless. It was healing well, but he Jack had stabbed deep and he wanted to run until his lungs ached. Jacob closed his eyes. “How come you think I know?” He asked into the silence Jack was letting grow between them into a monstrous being.

“I _don't_ ,” Jack grumbled. “But if you don't, you can find out, can't you?” He was literally sitting on the edge of his chair now.

Jacob watched. He had slouched down while reading, but now that he put the files aside he sat up and patted the edge of his bed in a welcoming manner. Dumbfound Jack stared. “C'mere,” Jacob beckoned quietly. Other people would have found closeness and the promise of a hug comforting, but Jack didn't. It was only Jacob who felt better knowing him close enough to grab if he ended up lashing out.

Sceptical Jack followed and sat down at the edge of his bed, but with the accustomed distance between them.

“I knew you were going to ask sooner or later, so I put Freddy on the case to find out what exactly happened,” he explained to ease some of Jack's doubts. “Your mother… do you remember her name?” Jack shook his head. “Her name was Cora – I'm sorry I don't have a last name, unmarried, the record doesn't state who your father was, for all I know he either doesn't know you exist or he doesn't give a bloody fuck… I'm sorry Jack, I did everything I could to find a trail and there's nothing.”

“How… why… Lambeth?” Jack asked after another while of silence between them. He had drawn up a leg, resting his head against it as he hugged it. “I didn't do anythin', did I?” There was a short instance where doubt and fear mixed in his eyes.

“No, of course not,” Jacob sighed. “You weren't at fault, Jack – none of what happened was your fault, you were just a child and they didn't know what to do with you or what the right thing to do was...”

“What happened to my mother?” His eyes narrowed as he focused them on Jacob.

Averting his eyes, Jacob swallowed. “She got involved with Starrick's men… for money I think,” he glanced at Jack, but then his eyes lingered on him. “Some deal went badly, she got killed... because that's what used to happen when people made business with Starrick and the Blighters and something went wrong.” His mouth was a bitter grimace. “I'm sorry Jack, I wish I could have done something, no child deserves to see their own mother die.”

“How did she die?”

“She was stabbed… and mutilated... I guess Starrick meant to set an example so nobody else would come to think of crossing him, or the Blighters went overboard I don't know, I wasn't there.”

Jack's breath was already shaking as he asked. “And why didn't you do anything?”

“We weren't even in London, Jack, you were only six when it happened, that's two years before we came there and then some months before I found you, and it makes me wish we would have gone sooner, but we didn't, because we didn't know how bad it was and nobody wanted us to go, Jack… look at me.” Gently Jacob had placed his hands on Jack's face to cradle it and turned it so that he would do as asked. “I'm sorry for what happened, all of it, but I can't change that, I can only make the here and now better… do you understand that?”

Pressing his trembling mouth together Jack nodded. He had curled his hands into fists, clinging to the bed sheet beneath them, but as Jacob watched him it didn't look like Jack had been comprehending his words. “Do you need a hug?” He asked in a small voice, not knowing how to but wanting to console whatever raged on inside of Jack. Helpless and upset Jack shrugged. So Jacob smoothed his hair down, gently stroking the side of his head. “I'm here for you Jack, I always will be...” It was a feeble promise, but saying it made Jacob feel better.

Jacob bore no grudge against the fact that Jack didn't respond. He had long since found ways to work around that. Had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter. That there would be situations he wouldn't be able to help Jack with. That there would be moments that left him defeated. “C'mere… shhh...” Jack's body shook with something that perhaps might have been a sob when Jacob gathered him in his arms. He didn't do anything else, just allowed Jack to lean against him, while he kept an arm wrapped around him. Providing no measures that wouldn't allow Jack to escape. “I know you're angry… and upset… hurt… Jack, I promise you if those people are still alive, I will find them for you and I won't stop you when the time comes.” Jacob said quietly.

Wrathful Jack thumped his fist against Jacob's chest with an angry grunt. “You should have stopped them!” He whispered seething. “You should have come sooner!” Again Jack hit his chest, forcing Jacob to bite down a sound of pain. “You could have saved her! My mother's dead and it's all because you and your sister couldn't be bothered to show up any sooner.” Again and again, Jack hit him as he lamented on, and Jacob couldn't bring himself to let go. Because letting go felt like leaving Jack alone with all his hurt and maybe he was right after all and they should have come sooner because they had wanted to. Jacob at the very least would have gone sooner if it hadn't been for Evie, but now it was too late for all these thoughts. Even if Jack couldn't see that through all his pain.

“I hate you,” Jack had grown quiet over exhaustion, but his nails were still clawing into Jacob's skin.

“That's alright, Jack… I'm not that great of a parent I'm sure.”

“You're _not_ my father,” he spat out. And he meant it and Jacob couldn't stop the hurt his statement caused to crack his insides open like a chasm.

“No, not in _blood_.” Was what Jacob replied as he ran his hand through Jack's unruly hair. “Still alright that you think you hate me now,” he added quietly, “you have all the reason in the world to feel like you do...”

“Let me go!” Jack insisted. “Let me go!”

Jacob opened his arms and placed them in his lap, but Jack didn't move from where he had sunken into his shoulder. Still, Jacob didn't wrap his arms around him again. “I've been reading up on the eagle vision...” Jacob cleared his throat. “Nothing much useful so far, so maybe you're a unique case but most likely nobody ever recorded a case like yours… but I won't stop looking, if there's any record something that can help you, I'll find it I promise, no matter how many years it takes… I'll help you, Jack, I will, because I'm your guardian.”

He couldn't say father or parent because neither was inherently true, although he cared for Jack like one. But it wasn't what Jack needed it seemed. Not how it was going to work between them if he wanted to protect Jack. And eventually, stop him.

 

_Bombay, November 1876_

Evie was making a habit out of prying him out of bed in the middle of the night Jacob thought when he found her standing in the doorway. His leg had healed nicely, he almost hadn't noticed it. ”Care for a walk?” She asked, her eyes blatantly staring over his shoulder at the curled up figure in his bed.

“Mh-hm,” Jacob sounded. Evie watched him for a while as he gathered enough clothes to pass for a properly dressed human being, but he noticed her kept darting over to Nitya, while she kept her thoughts to herself.

“I have to go collect some documents from one of our informants, I thought you might enjoy the legwork for once.”

“Says Miss I Won't Move Till I Finished My Book.” Evie rolled her eyes, but Jacob could see a smile curling the corners of her mouth up as she turned her head away. “Where are we going?”

“Other end of the city.”

“You call that a walk?” Jacob replied dryly. Unfortunately, Evie's charming smile hadn't become any less disarming in the previous years. “Alright, fine, but try and keep up, will you?”

She laughed quietly. “You try and keep up, I didn't spend the past months lazing about.”

Rolling his eyes Jacob followed her and fell into a trot when they reached the rooftops. They didn't talk. Evie led and he followed, thinking of games of tag when they had been children and he had been running after her through gardens and streets and factories. Thinking of how there had been a time he had thought himself capable of catching up with her in their father's eyes. It had been another kind of race, one that he had been doomed to lose from the start.

The fresh air helped him think, and for the first time in a long while he didn't mind the silence between them. It felt comfortable even, although Jacob had a feeling Evie meant to say something.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

Jacob guessed they had made half the journey by the time she spoke, judging by the night sky and distance they had covered. “Good?” He patted his leg. “Doesn't hurt,” he added with a smile. The wound hadn't kept him from walking for long, even though it had hurt for quite a while, but Jacob had been too bored to just sit still and wait for it to heal. Likely prolonging the process by doing so a little more than he had wanted to.

“Good,” Evie said, feeling glad. Jacob could tell it from the tone in her voice. But it hadn't been the answer she had wanted to hear, he could see that in the little frown on her head.

“So what's bothering you?” He asked, closing the little distance between them with leisurely steps because Evie made no particular effort to move fast. “I know something's been bothering you.” Jacob leaned a little closer, close enough for their arms to brush against each other.

Evie didn't reply immediately, she just turned her head to look at him as lines of concern were starting to mark her face. “How are you holding up?”

“Well, I'd like to have my daughter here, but that's not–”

“How are you holding up?” Evie asked again, this time with a particular emphasis in her tone. One that made Jacob stop in his tracks as he realised she hadn't been asking about the present at all. “No, you don't get to look at me like that, how was I supposed to know, you never told me anything.”

“Take a bloody guess why that was,” Jacob shot back.

“You can't make everything my fault, just because…” And Evie stopped and shook her head with a defeated sigh. “Oh, would you look at us, _I worry about you_ Jacob – a lot more than you might think I do… father was so wrong about you...” Evie had stopped to stand before him and cup his face. “I was just as wrong and look what it got us, Jay.” There was more she wanted to say, he could see it in the way her mouth moved to form words unspoken and eventually closed. Gently her hand caressed the side of his face. “You miss him, don't you.”

Him. Maxwell.

Of course, Jacob thought, but couldn't admit that to himself. He shrugged instead. “What's there to miss...” He sighed, closing his eyes, slightly shaking his head. “He almost killed half a dozen children… there's nothing to miss about that.”

“But he wasn't just that man, just like you were never only what father saw in you,” Evie replied. Running her thumb over his cheek and along the side of his jaw.

“That doesn't matter now,” Jacob pressed out in a husky voice. Still avoiding her eyes. “It never mattered to him, I never...” He felt the sting of tears in his eyes that wouldn't go away even when he tried to blink them away, tried to blame it on the smoke that he breathed out with every heave of his chest. His insides lined with charred bones and flesh reduced to ash it was miracle his ribcage didn't collapse. “None of that matters now, VV… because he's fuckin' dead and I did it.” Jacob had been slightly shaking his head, pressing his lips into a chalk-white line now. He choked all her objections with the ash from his lungs when he continued to speak. “Nothing can change that, so it can't matter because I couldn't… I just can't...”

 _Not again_. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't speak them.

Maxwell had meant what he had said that afternoon on the rooftop, for better or for worse. His intentions had been for worse and his reasons fickle, the night which had followed had been a hard lesson. His kiss had left a cut so deep Jacob hadn't thought his heart would ever recover.

“I wanted to… I _didn't_ want to, but I _had_ to, so don't tell me he wasn't the bad guy in this because he has to… he has to be.” Never just a moment long Jacob wanted to think about what could have been. About the promised forgiveness if he had just stopped himself before the kill. Maxwell had made one last offer after all. But nothing had soothed the dread that filled up his insides with frantic panic. Jacob had never feared him, but he had also never been stupid enough to think Maxwell's reputation had merely fallen into his lap by chance. What he had feared in the end wasn't the fire, or the dead children, or not being there to stop him, it had been his own willingness to turn a blind eye to what he couldn't see.

If he hadn't seen the children, he wouldn't have stopped him. If he had seen them in the aftermath he would have found some excuse for himself to live with it.

Maxwell had been wrong about him in the end, even though that was a piece of knowledge Jacob knew to be better left unshared. He had been wrong about what he had said on that rooftop, but he had been right about his taunts at the theatre.

Silently Jacob sank against his sister who seemed to have grown a little shorter in the four years he hadn't seen her because he had to bow his head to bury it in her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her to hug her tight. Not sure if it was truly him and not her in need of a hug now. But it was Evie who muttered soothing nothings into his ear as she carded her hand through his hair, fingers playfully tiptoeing down the back of his neck at each stroke down. Soothing away the few tears that he hadn't realised had forced their way into the world.

Hugging Evie made the world seem right, or at least, a little more right in its own right. “I'm alright,” Jacob mouthed against her shoulder, after a while when she wouldn't let him go. “I'm alright, really… you can let me go, Evie.” Rubbing his eyes when she did so in an attempt to chase away the weariness that wasn't there as well as drying the rest of the tears. Jacob patted her shoulder when she kept a little, concerned frown knitted together in the middle of her forehead. He pressed his lips together, although a quiet hum passed them, smiling about the memory that came up. Wishing there would be a way to manifest it for her to watch. “I didn't buy a suit for the Queen's ball.” The memory of her disbelief lingered in his mind and it seemed like a good idea to take his mind off the sorrow.

Clearing his throat, Jacob used the hand on the back of Evie's shoulder to get her walking again. Her only answer was to eye him curiously as if to ask what that had to do with anything.

Jacob shrugged, smiling to himself. “It was a gift...” He sighed. “A mere coincidence that it was done by the time of the ball, you have to believe me all it was supposed to do was make me look dashing… and I was half set on burning it when I found it on the train.”

“Who in London would gift you a suit, Jacob Fyre?” Evie inquired with half a smile. As if she already knew the answer.

“A man who called a theatre his own insisted… repeatedly….” He pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh when he saw the gears in her head turning. “It was exactly as awkward as you are imagining it… I don't remember how I managed to stand still for so long but I remember Maxwell was being quite convincing that it would be worthwhile.”

“So you just allowed him to take you to a tailor… do I… alright, stop that look, I'll stop asking I can guess how it was worth your while.” Jacob could feel her eyes lingering on him as they as they leisurely walked on across the slopes and steps of the rooftops. With gaps and elevations to forcing a small distance back between them. “What about Nitya?” Evie turned her head as she walked and Jacob met her stare for a moment.

“What about her?” He asked. Trying to appear clueless when he wasn't.

“Are you in love with her?” Evie continued, once again eyeing him. There was more she wanted to say, but she held her tongue while waiting for his reply.

“A little... I guess?”

Evie raised her brows. “A little... you guess?”

“I'll go back to London eventually- are you questioning how much in love I should be?”

“Oh yes, Nitya, that's so fascinating, oh please Nitya come and take a look at this file and stand oh so close to me Nitya,” Evie mocked playfully and could be heard laughing when Jacob aimed to hit her arm in retaliation. “You're in love,” she sang and caught his hand instead of evading him. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Nitya with a-” The rest of her taunt was submerged in laughter when Jacob attempted to wrestle his arm free from her grip. Tugging at each other they stumbled across the roof, making feeble attempts to slap the other in their playful fight. It wasn't like that, not exactly, but Evie would hear none of it. “What are you upset about, you already have one child, why not add some more?” Evie said, laughing quietly. “We'd have better excuses to visit each other.”

“Well then, I'm looking forward to meeting your children, Evie Frye,” Jacob retorted smug as can be. “You're already shy of one.” Evie rolled her eyes, while Jacob thought that the one he had hadn't even been planned. “Do you even want children?”

“I never thought you wanted them,” Evie remarked instead of answering his question.

“What? Kids are awesome… when they don't steal my money and eat all my food.” He saw his grin mirrored on her face when he looked at her. “Actually, you've fallen behind by three, now that I think about it, what, there's Julia and Jack and Clara… don't look at me like that, I would die for her, she's one of mine now.”

“They don't count, you're not their actual father,” Evie replied precociously. “So it's still one – one child.”

Jacob laughed quietly. “Fine, just one, but only because you're my sister.”

“How kind of you,” Evie replied dryly, then quickly changed the subject. “Did you ask Nitya whether she'd like to come to London?”

“No...” Jacob sighed, drawing out the sound. “I don't want her to say no.” Of course, he knew what she was going to ask next. Whether or not he had considered staying. “Of course I have,” he said when she asked. “Don't laugh,” he warned her, “but staying… that just feels like I'm running away from all my responsibilities.” Jacob closed his eyes for a moment. Someone had taken somebodies hand somewhere along the way. He trusted Evie not to lead him off the roof. Like he was running away from George. Jacob couldn't say what brought up that thought, but he also couldn't shake it off.

“What makes you think that?” He opened his eyes when Evie drew him close and he bumped into her shoulder.

Smiling when he caught her glance. “Just a feeling… one of those things you have so seldom and then confuse for hunger.” Evie slapped him and Jacob laughed. “It's just there… in the back of my mind, when I think about going back… like I have unfinished business.” Jacob explained, swinging her arm lightly.

It was an urge that he couldn't ignore just like Evie hadn't been able to ignore the call of the Piece of Eden.

He was a little disappointed when it turned out Evie had meant her words and did meet with an informant. A stout, little man who looked much like a merchant and talked like one too. Who kept eyeing Jacob like he didn't know what to make of him. When Evie saw the pout on his face she smirked.

“You ask Nitya,” she said to him on their way, but Jacob only responded with a weary nod. He didn't feel like asking her, but he felt less like giving Evie a reason to scold him. She probably hadn't even noticed how she had touched on that old wound.

 

_Bombay, December 1876_

Nitya had crashed into a corner where pillows piled and someone had draped a blanket over her, but when she sat up Jacob noticed how her clothes had shifted as she had moved in her sleep. By now he had seen her tired face plenty of times, but it never ceased to be adorable. “Good evening, sleepyhead,” Jacob smiled and sat down close to her.

“How long was I out?” Nitya yawned.

Jacob shrugged. “Possibly half a day? When did you come back?” Her reply was an incomprehensible mumble as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, swaying a little and letting herself fall onto her back when she couldn't find anything to lean against.

“What's bugging you?” She asked when she noticed he wasn't leaving. Nitya rolled onto her side. Drawing her legs a little closer as she did so, appearing to curl herself up.

Jacob had a feeling his sister's coercion was written all over his face, so instead of replying to her words, he picked at the sleeves of his shirt. Then immediately feeling stupid for having Evie dictate his actions indirectly. “Would you come to London with me if I asked?” Jacob nonchalantly inquired half a smile on his lips because he did want to seem inviting after all.

“Are you asking?” Nitya smiled tired as she was. She couldn't have slept more than three hours judging by the look on her face.

“Would you?”

Her gaze lingered on him, much more thoughtfully now. “Are you leaving?”

“No, not right now,” Jacob shook his head, “but I won't stay longer than two years.” That made it about half a year, maybe a little less time that he would have left to spend with her and Evie.

“Why is that?” Nitya asked, closing her eyes as she tried to get more comfortable and rearranging a pillow or two in the process. Swatting at Jacob's hand when he attempted to draw her a little closer so she could lean against him. “Mine,” she mumbled and scowled, much to his amusement. He didn't argue with her.

For a brief moment, his eyes scanned their surroundings, but there was no one of significance anywhere near in earshot. He couldn't make out Jack either. “Because I have a daughter who's waiting for me.” Nitya blinked quite dumbfound, while Jacob snorted a laugh. “She's six already, her birthday is in February and she loves to play tag and marbles and being read stories and maybe one day she's going to make a great assassin...” He couldn't help how the thought of Julia made him smile immediately.

Frowning Nitya had sat up and hugged her legs, resting her tired head on them without lifting her eyes off of him. The question had formed in her every movement, the curve of her body, long before she had actually spoken it. “Why didn't bring her?” She asked, leaving another question unspoken.

Jack. That was the first thought that came to mind for him. Jack and the little kid he'd beaten bloody, Jack and all the fights he'd gotten into with Clara's children, Jack and the ear between his teeth, Jack and the glint in his eyes when he practised the fear tactics on guards, Jack and his first kill and Jack who had stabbed him when he had tried to drag him away because it had been enough.

Jacob closed his eyes. He couldn't expect her to understand. Averting his eyes Jacob scratched the back of his neck as he thought. Julia wasn't here. Nitya couldn't try anything stupid in case he was wrong. There was no harm in telling the truth he decided. “Jack – Jack the lad,” it was how Jack had come to introduce himself when asked to do in the past couple of years.

“What's so scary about Jack the lad?” Nitya smirked, leaning onto her arms and moving to invade his personal space.

Jacob wet his lips, not sure what he was supposed to make of that, but also unwilling to stop her. Evie hadn't been all wrong, but she hadn't been all right either. “The informant was alone it was Jack who stabbed me.” Now she frowned in clear confusion, almost pouting a little as if that helped to solve her question. But Jacob only sighed, raising a hand to run it through her hair. It was just long enough to twirl if he wanted to, but the perfect length to easily thread his fingers through and busy himself when he needed to think. “I don't know why he lied, but I know that he didn't mangle the corpse because the guy was stronger than him – _he enjoyed it_.” Jacob almost whispered the last words, pushing her hair out of her face to watch the reaction that flickered across it, while he felt his gut sinking.

Instead of speaking Nitya merely took his hand and squeezed it as she sank against his side. She was thinking and tapping her fingers against his hand as she did so. She did that often. Tapping her fingers when she was in thought. Not fast, just slow and thoughtful like the ticking of a clock, and sometimes the taps rather resembled small lines that she drew. “Why didn't you tell anyone it was Jack?”

A bitter, cut off laugh escaped Jacob's throat. “No use, Jack would get upset and that's counterproductive to what I want.”

“You don't want him to stab you.” Nitya countered.

“Point taken,” Jacob replied but sighed. “So are you coming to London?”

“I'll think about it,” she said, smiling, smushing her face into his shoulder. “Tired.” Nitya proclaimed in a tone that matched her statement. “Too much thinking…”

Her breath evened as she fell asleep and the weight leaning against his shoulder increased. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, and Jacob would have moved, but instead made himself comfortable. Certain that not even a roaring thunderstorm above their heads could have woken her now that she didn't have to sleep alone.

Maxwell had let him sleep on his couch, in his bed and anywhere in the Alhambra, but Jacob would have taken any cramped uncomfortable spot over all others if it meant he didn't have to sleep alone. But he couldn't say whether or not Maxwell had figured that out on his own or if he had told him. Either way, Jacob had always found him somewhere close by, talking, working or equally tired. He had told him to stay more often than the reasons why.

 

_London, March 1868_

“How do you have the patience for that?” Jacob asked, already knowing the answer. At least he thought he knew because he knew what Evie and their father and George would have told him.

He had watched Maxwell praise his actors and their performance, and criticising a scene or two he hadn't been happy with. “I enjoy it, my dear… what's there to have patience for?” Maxwell smirked.

Jacob shrugged, not sure how to go on from there when Maxwell wasn't going to give him a lesson in patience and adulthood. He couldn't imagine watching a rehearsal for the nth time with just as much patience and diligence as the first, and he wasn't going to start an argument about it. He was merely knitting his brows together. “What are we doing today?”

“Nothing much,” Maxwell waved off an unnamed idea, “the man in question left town, it's no use going after him.”

“We could catch a train...” Jacob suggested, half smiling. Knowing that he had Maxwell's attention now. “And you can tell me who we're looking for on the way?” He didn't want to say it, but he wanted the distraction from Evie's latest rebuke.

If Maxwell had been considering his offer up until now Jacob could now clearly see that while he liked the idea he wasn't going to agree. Perhaps the mix of frustration and disappointment showed, or perhaps Maxwell simply thought he had to make up for it when he patted his arm and told him, “would a little fight cheer you up, darling?”

“You think you have someone who can beat me?” Jacob couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face.

He found it mirrored in Maxwell's expression. “If we ask nicely I'm sure Rob will find you… a suitable match...” Something that Jacob didn't know how to place lingered in Maxwell's expression. Lingered in the motion of his arm that he stopped halfway from reaching out. “Starrick won't get off my case about all the gang leaders you disposed of, but you see Jacob I have no intention of replacing them, so I've been asking him to gather names of suitable… spares.” Maxwell had made his way off the stage leaving Jacob no choice but to follow him. “Half of the champions have more brawn than brains which makes them essentially useless for Starrick.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jacob asked, not quite comprehending where this was supposed to go. Unless Maxwell meant for him to bash some heads in and God he hoped Maxwell meant for him to bash some heads in.

“Jacob my boy, there can't be any replacing happening if there are no suitable replacements...” With a twinkle in his eye, he gave him a friendly punch. “And there won't be any suitable replacements when you're finished with them.”

“And what does Starrick have to say about my involvement?” Jacob couldn't help himself from asking or hiding his amusement.

Maxwell laughed. “What he doesn’t know won't hurt him, in regards to the future Blighters, well they've been told it's part of their… initiation.”

They took the carriage, all the way down into the metaphorical heart of Westminster. The Devil's Acre had been chosen, and while the blighters who inhabited it weren't happy to see Jacob they held their tongues and kept their feet still because Maxwell Roth wanted them too.

“Why here?” Jacob had asked.

“Because no rank or title only ruthlessness and luck rule down here and they're gambling with the lives of everyone who's setting foot on the earth of this place.”

Casually Jacob followed to the makeshift ring which had been set up. It was hard to call it a ring in the first place. Someone had hammered a few stakes into the ground and tied some fabric between them to signify its outline and that was it. Its ground hadn't been cleared, Jacob saw shards of glass and bricks and the ground was muddy in some places. Carefully he eyed Maxwell for a moment, wondering just for a brief instance if he was meant to die on this ground covered in blood and choking on betrayal. He tried to catch his eyes. Maxwell eyes never lied, and they didn't want him dead so Jacob shrugged off any doubts he might have had.

“Ready?” Maxwell asked with a playful smirk lining his face.

His eyes were wandering the crowd. Jacob could make out six men that he wasn't sure were even remotely suitable to fill a gang leaders position. It were more man than districts he had cleared, but it was hard to believe that Maxwell hadn't made his choice already. So he did plan to sabotage Starrick's plans of re-establishing order.

Jacob shrugged off his coat with a cheerful smile. “Always,” he said, handing it over when Maxwell stretched out an arm in an obvious offer to keep his clothes safe during the fight. This wasn't a gang or street fight, so there were rules to adhere and even the blighters of the Devil's Acre were following them.

His shirt followed, and Maxwell's eyes lingered and Jacob decided it were the tattoos.

He had entered the ring first, casually strolling around as Robert announced the first contestant. From the corner of his eye, Jacob could see a brute, a head taller than him, jump the makeshift fence and approach him. He had a dark patch of hair on his head, reminding Jacob of Kaylock. “You didn't have a brother named Rexford by chance?” He asked playfully.

“No… but he does,” the man smirked, pointing at a rather scrawny figure watching the ring from behind the safety of the fence. “Says I'll get paid nicely if I knock out your bloody teeth.

Jacob couldn't help but grin at the taunt, he would be a fool to fall for it but he couldn't help thinking of what Maxwell would do if the man stayed true to his word. It wouldn't be as nice as merely putting a bullet into his head.

It was an easy fight that left him with unaddressed frustration swirling through his blood. Easy because for as strong as his opponent had been, he had also been slow. Maybe he would have made up for it in brains on the field, but the broken ribs would make sure thinking would be the man's only pastime for a long while.

“Who's next?” Jacob wanted to know, not wanting to wait for Robert's announcement. He would have to drink away the edge of it if he didn't get a good fight out of this, Jacob thought to himself. Numb it till he couldn't feel it if he wasn't going to be allowed to let it out in one way or another.

Fight number two left him with a burning pain in his lower leg that had been caused by being knocked down and landing uncomfortably on one of the rings obstacles. Jacob was only halfway sure he didn't have a cut, but if he did it wasn't bleeding bad enough to soak through his pants. It also left him with the taste of blood in his mouth, feeling a small rush of satisfaction.

Three and four and he was starting to accumulate the obligatory bruises, as Jacob was beginning to feel the strain of exhaustion. He had been trying to avoid black eyes, not wanting Evie to find fault in his ways of relieving stress. She would anyway once she saw the bruises, which was inevitable, but he didn't want to give her obvious reasons.

He got a cut on his arm when it hit broken glass on the ground somewhere during round five that he couldn't feel as much as the blood trickling down his arm as a result of it. Five also got him a bloody nose, making it hard to tell where the blood in his mouth came from now.

Six went down in a blur of muscles straining under the ongoing exercise, with the adrenaline carrying him through it and then a little more till it started to fade and Jacob could feel the weariness in his bones and Maxwell's eyes still lingering on him. Like he was all that mattered.

He had noticed it first between two and three, but he hadn't paid it much mind. More focused on the fight at hand than everything going on around him.

The spark that lit up Maxwell's eyes and spread a grin across his face when Jacob approached him made his steps quicken almost on their own. His own grin showed bloody teeth and Jacob could feel a loose tooth that he got free and spit out after prodding at it with his tongue for a while.

“Hey, Kaylock! Catch!” He called throwing the bloody tooth at the scrawny man with the bitter face. “Pay your damn fighter!” That was all he got out before Maxwell had grabbed his face and pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. Without thinking much Jacob leaned his head forward. His eyes were absent-mindedly fixed on his clothes that Maxwell had draped across his arm.

“Feeling better?” He heard Maxwell ask.

An elusive sound slipped his throat. He didn't feel much of anything, other than the blood rushing through his veins and an indescribable calm that hadn't been there before. It wasn't truly a calm, just the absence of the need of grind his teeth and never-ending clawing inside his chest for the moment. “Good enough,” he said, at last when Maxwell let go of his nose and handed him his shirt and coat. The cold was starting to sink in now, but Jacob didn't mind and some part of him lingered in the memory of the brief touch when Maxwell's hand had brushed his jaw.

“Let's get you patched up then, shall we?” He said and Jacob had a feeling he was only making it out without a brawl that involved every man standing because Maxwell had decided to like him for some miraculous reason.

Jacob would have preferred to sit in the back of the carriage, but he climbed in the front next to Maxwell. “Back to the Alhambra?” He asked as he gathered up the reigns.

“No, we'll just be in the way now.”

“Don't you have a show to open?” Jacob asked, with a blood-smeared smile, brushing something away that tickled his face. Briefly rubbing his jaw where it hurt before he whipped the reigns to put the horses into a gentle trot.

“I don't open every show, my dear, just the important ones… and when I feel like it,” Maxwell replied. “Let me hold the reigns.”

Without a second thought, Jacob handed them over and leaned back, closing his eyes as he did so then staring up at the sky for an indefinite amount of time. The ride went by in a haze of sounds that Jacob didn't bother to process. He knew that he should care for where Maxwell was bringing him, but he didn't really and there were only so many places Maxwell would bring him.

A house. Jacob could never help to not think how a house would have been so much more suitable. Maxwell certainly owned enough clothes and books and furniture and ornaments and other useless and useful scraps to fill a house, but instead, he had cramped it all into a flat that occupied half a floor at this point. Maxwell had told him he had extended it for convenience's sake.

In all its absurdity Jacob liked it for its quiet. Unlike at the Alhambra where there was always something going on in the background, whether it was the stage being set, someone trying on costumes, rehearsing or simply readying the theatre for visitors – it never stood still. The exact quality which made Jacob like London so much better than Crawley. The same quality he didn't miss inside Maxwell's walls that carried a comfortable tranquillity.

“I'd tell you to make yourself at home, but that would be stating the obvious,” he heard Maxwell say while he made his way for the nearest free couch that wasn't occupied by stacks of books and papers or curious artefacts that Maxwell claimed to be props.

Jacob was never sure whether to believe him, although it sounded reasonable that they helped his inspiration because Jacob had seen Maxwell write for hours on end on some days and others bring no more than three words in five hours to the paper. It was a strangely disarming sight. Disarming in the way that it was almost endearing.

With a sigh, Jacob let himself fall onto the couch and stretched his legs out. With closed eyes, he listed to Maxwell's footsteps as he walked around the flat to find supplies to stitch him up. He would have thought a man with his reputation to be more organised, but Jacob liked the way that he wasn't at all what he expected sometimes. He waited till the footsteps came to a halt right next to him and watched Maxwell make room on a small table. Which in terms of Maxwell meant he'd just shove anything and everything out of the way to make room.

“So what do I get?” Jacob asked, squeezing his eyes shut when Maxwell cleaned the blood off of his face. The cool of the water helped him gather his thoughts, but he had to interrupt rolling up his trousers to inspect the bruise inflicted on his leg for that.

Maxwell raised a brow. “Get for what?”

“Winning?” Jacob smiled his most endearing smile that would always win him favours and sympathies.

Instead of replying Maxwell cleaned off the blood which had trickled down his forehead, around and beneath his eye from where the skin had been broken. “That's going to leave a bruise...” He observed, turning Jacob's head left and right for proper inspection.

Thinking of the disapproval that would get him from Evie Jacob pulled a face, involuntarily wincing when water changed to alcohol that made him aware of every minor cut on his face with a stinging pain. Then again Jacob figured his bruised and bloody mouth would give him away just as easy as the bruised eye. “So?” He asked, summoning the smile from before.

This time around Maxwell grinned a little himself. “A prize he says… he wants a prize…” It was almost a little sing-song when he spoke and Jacob's smile turned more genuine. Maxwell had stopped what he was doing and was merely examining him now, making it hard for Jacob not to return the quizzical stare.

 _Oh_ , he caught himself thinking as a thought crossed his mind. _Oh_ , and then the thought that he should do something to prevent the following circumstances and discourage Maxwell. Take back his own words. _Oh_ , and the realisation that he didn't want to.

He had seconds to wonder whether all that his sister's books said was true because right now he might have believed them about kisses that stole your breath and took your spirits higher than the wind.

His kiss was as deliberate as everything else Maxwell did, giving Jacob time to stop breathing, process the reality and close his eyes, but just then it was already over again. His heart had made a frantic leap that was making Jacob half sure he should have choked on it, but his throat was free and fine when he took a breath. There were words on his tongue that wouldn't form a coherent thought past the first syllable.

“I don't know what I had in mind anymore,” Jacob mumbled when he managed to speak again, “but it wasn't this but this is also not a complaint...” He was sure he sounded as lost as he felt.

“Not a complaint,” Maxwell repeated matter-of-factly and seemed a little amused when Jacob averted his eyes. Feeling a little shy. Somehow sure of it that it would help him hide the flush that was creeping up his cheeks as long as he wasn't looking at him.

Jacob nodded, not sure how to go on. Realising that Maxwell's hand still lingered on the side of his face, wondering when he had gotten used to the touch. Wondering how to say that he wanted to be kissed again and again and again till Evie and Starrick and the pain were insignificant specks among his thoughts. “You can do that again...” Jacob said, nodding to himself, wondering if Maxwell was waiting for exactly that, but forgetting the proper Victorian way to go about these things.

He watched as Maxwell raised his brows as if to ask what he meant and for a moment Jacob felt a cold rush of embarrassment that quickly turned into the urge to suffocate Maxwell with his coat because now the smug bastard was grinning at him. But he kissed him again, turning the knot in his chest into elation trying to crack open his ribcage at the spaces in between his bones.

Without thinking much Jacob brought up a hand to dig into the back of Maxwell's hair, placing the other on the side of his face where he could feel the scar under his palm. It had fascinated him for so long, but now that he had a chance to touch it he couldn't concentrate on it because Maxwell was kissing him and wiping all thoughts from his head with that. And in his kiss, he could taste his own blood and the liquor Maxwell had been drinking.

It was nothing like he would have imagined it if he had bothered to imagine it, but it calmed him. Making Evie's potential wrath and London's inevitable downfall seem insignificant and small in light of the fact that he felt… welcome. And wanted and like there was a place to be for him in this world. So Jacob sank back into the couch, with his eyes closed and a finger trailing the crevasse of the scar. Till Maxwell grabbed his hand and placed it elsewhere so he could continue patching him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know fight clubs are just an excuse to see Jacob half naked and we also all know that Maxwell is totally taking advantage of that.
> 
> Preview for the 13th:  
> »“Not sure I _want_ a baby brother,” she noted with folded arms.«


	13. Sins Of The Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of baby Emmett well I propose something new. Which at this point, after all you went through with me in this story I can only assume you're not gonna question either. I would really like to know how many people would have even considered this bc it took me 0.2 sec to name this kid long before I ever wrote this chapter. I'll be honest the whole Emmett thing kinda raises a lot of questions for me even without its associations to Ethan bc if that man is a relatives to the Fryes and Jacob picked his name bc of that why did he do that, did he know that man, was he the fun uncle who let them eat candy for dinner and stay up past bedtime, I need to know. I know Jacob is more sentimental than its good for him but still.
> 
> Fair warning: investigation of a crime scene and a dead body coming up in the middle of this chapter.

_London, August 1877_

He'd been gone a little more than two years. To be more correct it was closer to two and a half, but four months of the last half had been spent aboard a ship on his way home so Jacob didn't want to count them. Which wasn't a lot in the timespan of an adult but basically forever when you were talking about a five-year-old child. So, of course, Jacob was mildly uneasy about going back to George and picking up his now seven-year-old. Jacob scarcely remembered being seven.

Their father had been with them for nearly a year at their seventh birthday and Jacob hadn't been anywhere near close to forgiving him. He hoped Julia would be able to forgive him for leaving. Would still recognise him. Would still want him in her life. Wouldn't resent him.

Jacob felt his insides shrink and curl up at that thought.

All he had told Nitya and Jack was that he was going to give George a quick visit and be back by the end of the day. As much as he trusted her, Jacob wasn't so sure yet that she wouldn't cave in and tell Jack the truth out of pity. Julia was only seven and that was a risk he couldn't take.

So he had told them nothing and went on his way. Picking a later train and hoping everyone would already be asleep by the time he got back with Julia. Despite the fact that Jacob himself still felt the journey's weariness in his bones. It had been no more than a week since they had come back and Jacob had spent the entire week getting back on track with everything that had gone on in London during their absence. Feeling guilty for neglecting his daughter, when he knew there was no other way to stop any arising suspicions Jack might have.

“You're back! You're back! You're back!” Julia squealed with delight the moment she saw him and ran straight into his arms. Surprised because he hadn't expected anyone to be around Jacob caught her and hugged her close. She had gotten heavier, grown taller, but not so heavy and so tall he couldn't carry her anymore. “I've missed you, papa.” Her screams of joy were being stifled by tears of joy pooling in her eyes and streaming down her face. “I don't know why I'm crying, I'm just so happy you're back,” she sobbed. And Jacob might have cried a little himself too if he hadn't been laughing relief into her hair.

Relief for the fact that she had missed him. That she didn't resent him. That she still wanted him in her life. “I've missed you too, Julia”, Jacob replied with quiet content. His fingers tangled in her blonde hair as he kissed her head. “I'm sorry I left you, next time we're visiting my sister you're coming with me I promise you.”

“Cross my heart?”

“Cross my heart...” Jacob breathed and again hugged her as close as possible without crushing her. “Cross my heart.” Both arms wrapped around her protectively was the way Jacob returned her to the mill, feeling his stomach drop for completely different reasons when he saw George. His heart fluttered, but Jacob shushed it, still wondering if the other felt the same. “Long time no see...” A grin spread across his face as he spoke. Softly. Careful. Julia still in his arms with her own wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go. And yet he wanted to reach out and grab George's collar and kiss him. Taking an audible breath Jacob chased away the thought.

“The prodigal son returns.” George attempted to sound reproachful, but Jacob could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “How was India?”

“Hot,” Jacob complained with a laugh. “I prefer this lovely dripstone cave made country, never thought I'd miss the never-ending rain so much.”

George laughed but kept his arms folded. Somehow Jacob knew it was precaution. Not to hug him. Not to kiss him. Not to pull him in too close again. And perhaps that was for the better. Because perhaps what he wanted was only wishful thinking after all. “Are you only here to pick up your kid...” Or are you staying? The question remained unspoken, but Jacob could almost see it drip from his mouth, making him wonder if his thoughts weren't wishful thinking after all.

“Just here for my kid.” Jacob cleared his throat, gently patting Julia on the back as he did so. “Wish I had the time...” The sentence went unfinished, an almost inaudible whisper just for George to hear. It was nice. Being missed.

Something unspoken passed between them. Something that Jacob didn't have a name for. Yet. Didn't want to name. Yet. There was no place for it in their lives.

George said his name when Jacob turned to leave, and Jacob halted. “… just come back.” Not today, not anytime soon. Just anytime. The message was clear without being spoken.

“Did you think I wasn't coming back?” The words were out of his mouth before Jacob could stop them. They steeped his expression in regret. When George didn't answer he only scoffed. “Thought so.”

“Jacob no–” But Jacob left before George could finish. Leaving them both with a feeling of a lack of satisfaction over unfinished business. After all, that was all it was. Unfinished business.

Julia had fallen asleep in his arms on their way back. She was seven and much too old to be carried around, but that didn't matter to him. He wouldn't stop until she outgrew his arms.

Only when he put her to bed did Jacob notice how she was wearing one of the dresses that had once belonged to Evie and a little smile formed on his lips as he sat on the edge of her bed and listened to the quiet of the flat. Feeling at ease and at the same time like he was beginning to be careless, but just this once Jacob wanted to stay without having to explain himself. It had been more than two years since he had last seen her and it completely escaped him how their own father hadn't missed them at all for the better part of those six long years. How he had willingly missed their first steps, their first laughs, scraped knees and words when he didn't even want to miss a single hour of her presence. Yet had already missed almost half of everything. Having to spend his time on work and Jack and Clara there just wasn't all that much left for Julia, no matter how he set it up.

She wouldn't have to forgive him for that.

 

_London, October 1877_

Julia had been sulking about having to stay at Maxwell's flat, but when she saw Lewis and the wet nurse who had become more a maid over the years her face lit up and she hugged them both. An odd sight to be sure when it came to Lewis, but nevertheless amusing. There were moments when he thought he could see what Maxwell had seen in him, and there were moments where he thought he could see something much kinder in him. Something soft that couldn't be reconciled with the ruthlessness he harboured equally well.

The question had been prodding his tongue for months now. Ever since he had come back Jacob had felt a change in the air between them. But it had taken months to form it again and eventually voice it. 

Jacob had leaned against an open window, behind him the night air of London and in front of him Lewis. Between them the coin he balanced on the knuckles of his fingers. Forth and back. Forth and back. Just like Maxwell had taught him to keep him focused and entertained.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Are you upset that I killed Max?” Such a silly question it felt and yet there was no way around it. Silence answered him, but just this once Jacob wouldn't take it for a reply. “He meant something to you, enough to stick with him.” Carefully Jacob lifted his gaze off the coin and onto Lewis who stood still like a statue, his arms casually folded in front of his chest.

“It was inevitable.” There was as little emotion as ever in his voice.

“But it didn't need to be by my hand.” That was just as much a fact.

Lewis laughed. Jacob could scarcely believe it. Realising in the same instant he had never heard the man laugh before. Not like that. Almost careless. Almost… Jacob thought he could see a glimmer of what Maxwell had liked so much about him in that moment. “That's why he liked you so much.” A sad smile crept across Lewis' face. “That's why it was inevitable, I learnt not to fight the inevitable when I was with him… but I cannot give you the forgiveness you are asking for.”

Forgiveness. Jacob had tried hard not to think about that. There would be no absolution, nobody to absolve him from his guilt, his responsibility, all the pain and hurt. Necessity. Taking a deep breath Jacob reminded himself of the necessity of Maxwell's death and felt a small rush of calm wash over him again.

“I would never dream to gain it from you,” he replied dryly. In retrospect he could admit that he had been a little jealous, just enough to make it hurt, but not enough to admit it out loud. Even now.

He had taken his time with introducing Nitya to Julia, despite having told her about his daughter months ago in India. Everything had seemed so far away and so much easier with an ocean or two separating him from his problems. Being here again Jacob had found himself a lot more worried all of a sudden. “I'm going to bring someone over tomorrow...” he sighed as he moved from the window and trotted towards the hallway. “She's a friend I made in India, I trust her, but I want you to keep an eye out for Jack…” This needed no further explanation and Jacob turned to leave for the flat where Nitya and hopefully Jack as well would be waiting for him.

He intruded on what Jacob could only describe as an awkward late breakfast. Against better judgement he had spent the night on the train, unable to fight the nagging feeling that something was going incredibly wrong in his life. Nitya had through some miracle managed to convince Jack of eating some of the food she had fixed and it brought a little smile to Jacob's face. Enjoying the moment while it lasted he leaned against the doorway. There were so few things to smile about when it came to Jack, Jacob tried to savour them whenever they came around. He wanted to be able to look back and remember more than just the frustrations this kid caused him. He wanted a lot of things for Jack, but time had made clear that they were impossible.

A bittersweet pain flushed through his chest when Jack appeared to be pleased to see him. And yet. Why did his gaze chill his blood and send an icy shiver down his spine. They hadn't clashed much on the ship, Jack hadn't been seasick so much the second time around, but perhaps that had merely been because he had spent the majority of their time aboard asleep.

“She's a good cook,” Jack muttered as he walked past Jacob who had taken to pat his shoulder lightly. Although his fingers had itched to ruffle Jack's hair. Its natural unruly state was perfect for that specific type of affection, unfortunately, Jack held little regard for it. “I'm out, got things to do, investigatin' a thing,” he muttered and gone he was. Investigating. Jacob tried not to think about what that meant in detail. It was better if he didn't know he told himself. Knowing that it was merely a fickle excuse not to feel bad for not checking in on him today because he had promised himself to spend the time with Julia.

Nitya had insisted he sat down and ate as well before they went on their merry way to stay with Julia.

She was dressed in a pretty blue dress, well-fitted and tailored, not a hand-me-down from Evie. Although his sister surely wouldn't have minded. But he did. Julia wasn't supposed to lack a single thing in the world. At least not of those that were in his power to give to her.

In all her seven-year-old seriousness Julia marched up to Nitya and put her hands on her hips as she looked her up and down. “And who are you?” She said with a scowl. There was a pretty, tiny, blue bow in her hair to match the dress. 

“I'm a friend of your father,” Nitya replied, failing at hiding the smile on her lips. “We've met while we were in India.”

Visibly mulling over the facts Julia nodded, slowly shifting her stance and folding her arms. “Alright,” she smiled. Showing off the gap in her teeth that would soon be closed again. She had kept the few teeth that she had lost already and hadn't accidentally swallowed in a tiny jar on a desk in her room. “My name's Julia Frye, are you staying with us? How long are you staying? I like your clothes, when I grow up I wanna wear something with pretty swirls and patterns like that too.”

While Julia had spoken Nitya had walked over to the couch and patted the space next to her to invite Julia to sit down, who did so without thinking twice. Eager to examine the brocade and colourful fabric on Nitya's arm. “I'm not sure yet how long I will stay, some months to be sure,” Nitya smiled, “but I'd like to spend some of that time with you if that's all right… that's quite a pretty bow you're wearing.”

Julia beamed. “I picked it out myself,” she smiled. Then suddenly she jumped up, ordering both of them to wait. Jacob couldn't help but laugh quietly. “Look!” Proud Julia held up the scarf Evie had given her during her visit two years back. “That's from my aunt, isn't it pretty? I got it when she came here for a visit, I hope I get to see her again sometime soon, she was nice, I like her a lot, I don't like that she's all the way over in India though...” Quietly she huffed, lowering her gaze. “I wish she were here with me.”

Jacob had contented himself to sitting on the side and watching them as Julia talked Nitya's ear off, who was patient enough to answer all of the questions that she had. It was sight he had been occasionally imagining. Hoping they would get along whenever he had.

“A very straightforward child,” Nitya later remarked as they made their way across the Strand. “Very much like you and your sister.” A teasing glimmer shone in her eyes, drawing a laugh from his throat. Glad that they got along. Glad to see Julia in the company of a woman that wasn't her maid for a change. 

 

_London, November 1877_

There was comfort in returning to Maxwell's flat. The kind of comfort Jacob should have found in their house in Crawley but couldn't. Naturally, he found it hard to part with, but seeing the necessity of it Jacob was able to convince himself to go through with it. His own comfort could come second any time to Julia's. Besides he should have gotten rid of it years ago.

He would tell himself that the magic was wearing off and that Jack would eventually find them if he were to merely move into the place, but that wasn't quite true. Jacob was well aware that it would never lose its charm and that it was just a sorry excuse to justify the move. An opportunity to move on, he told himself. Yet that felt like a lie because he had decided to stay in the Strand with her and simply move locations. Close enough to Scotland Yard not make Jack not want to stay would be the ideal location.

So he was looking. Keeping Julia complacent for the moment, knowing that if this part took too long she'd start complaining. Knowing as well that if he didn't plan this move carefully that Jack would get in the way in the worst way. Feeling guilty that he had to rope Nitya into his plans to keep both children at bay when it wasn't her job at all.

The transition had begun so slow that Jacob hadn't even noticed it as first. In retrospect, he'd wonder how much of it he'd missed. Just how many signs had slipped through his fingers because he'd wanted to be blind to them, but he would never get it quite right. Like the glide of an avalanche, with a few warning rumbles and a slow glide it had started. Since Jack had had his blooding in India an unspoken tension between them had grown since the day Jacob had made it clear that Jack would get no proper kills in Bombay. It wasn't their city. Period. (He wouldn't let him turn it inside out and make it his own, just like Maxwell making London his own.)

Grinding his teeth and muttering something about the world being unfair Jack had obliged. But now as the weeks were passing Jack was slipping through his fingers.

Jack thought himself smart trying to turn the Rooks against him. Albeit his actions were laughable at best. Hot-headed and terribly planned they were easy to see through. Too easy to see through, and Jacob could dismiss them as few and unfortunate incidents in front of Frederick. 

He wouldn't become his father. He _couldn't_ become his father, and Jacob hated every moment that made him want to tear Jack to bits and pieces for his doings and when he wouldn't see the errors. But Jacob had been like him. Once. Before Maxwell. And he wasn't going to unfair like their father and Evie. He had promised himself that. And Jack.

Too brash. Too quick to act. Too angry. Too brutal. Too noisy. Too much. Too much. Too much anything. Too much everything.

He wouldn't become his father. Not even when Jack would wear down his last nerve. He'd do better, he'd help him. No matter what he felt like doing.

He wouldn't become his father. Because really, Jack was just a teenager and couldn't know any better. There was nothing unusual about his daring and reckless behaviour. Jacob had been like him when he had been his age. For completely different reasons. Ultimately Jack was much more like Maxwell in his destruction. A thought that turned his stomach each and every time when Jack thought it fun to stand up to him and question his leadership. An otherwise perfectly healthy thing Jacob figured if it weren't so desperately tied to his image of Maxwell Roth.

He wouldn't become his father. Not even if Jack turned out to be worse.

He wouldn't.

No matter that it felt too much. Just that. Too much to bear. Evie and George had been right, Jack was just like him in the worst way. And at the end of the day, it was easy to think of their fights as just that. A similarity in character that he didn't know how to deal with because he had outgrown it in one way or another.

Only that it wasn't. And that he knew better. And knew what it would get him not to act now. He'd been there. Once. And he had promised himself never again.

Jacob flinched away at the impact of Jack's hit. When had the little scrawny boy he'd picked up become so strong? He couldn't remember. When had he grown so tall? He couldn't remember that either. They would easily be on eye level soon if he kept growing. They almost were. An uncharacteristically scary thought, Jacob found. “It doesn't have to make sense to you yet Jack,” Jacob told him, swallowing fluttering anxiousness and the anger that went down like lead through his veins. His own brashness couldn't get the better of him, just because Jack sought a challenge like anyone his age would. He knew better. He had always known better, but that hadn't made him less impulsive back then.

If only that challenge wasn't how far he could go before Jacob would stop him. For the thought that he couldn't say how far would be too far made his blood run cold. It was a problem Jacob didn't dare to consider yet. And his struggles with Jack were much easier when written off as age-appropriate struggles with authority. But Jack remained unresponsive to his sympathy. Unresponsive to almost everything if Jacob was honest with himself. And he was growing tired.

A thought that angered him as much as it scared him. For he wanted to do better than his father had, wanted to do better than he had with Maxwell, yet had to realise that wouldn't be able to at this rate.

Evie would know what to do, Jacob thought. Instead of opening his mouth and letting out the banshee scream that hovered in the back of his throat, he stared him down.

He wouldn't let Jack force him to become what he hated most only to get him under control. There were other means, and Jacob would find them.

 

_London, December 1877_

From the corner of his eye, Jacob has noticed a small cluster of policemen. Nitya had been with him, coincidence and Duleep Singh had led them to Buckingham Palace in all its snow-covered glory. The maharajah had been invited to discuss his political situation and Jacob had dragged Nitya along to keep him company while having to briefly rekindle an old relationship with the crown to get rid of even more Templars. In the end, she had been wrapped up in a conversation with Duleep while he had negotiated with the Queen. All plans about politics forgotten for the day.

She had spent the rest of the afternoon with the maharajah while Jacob had followed the lead they had gained through the information of the Queen. Now on their way back, Nitya kept chattering on about her conversation with Duleep. The cold was starting to creep in, but Jacob didn't mind, feeling more alive than ever under its biting touch.

“Next time, you're coming too,” Nitya chirped happily, while his eyes were fixed on the crowd.

Even from the other end of the street, Jacob could make out splotches of gold that had to be blood. And then he noticed a familiar figure. “I'm glad you had nice chat,” a smiled washed over his face, “but can you hold that thought, I want to check out what's going on over there.”

Nitya cocked her head at his words, she had stopped talking and her steps slowed as to better investigate what had drawn Jacob's attention. “Do you think we should have a look?”

“I can see Freddy,” Jacob said, glancing at her as he spoke. “Looks serious, we might be of help.” From somewhere there was a faint cry of a small child but Jacob didn't pay it any mind.

Strange at it was Frederick's face lit up when Jacob and Nitya neared, momentarily placing a smile on Jacob's lips. Thinking he'd never get used to it, but glad for it all the same. There was always a friendly jab about his sister's absence. She was well missed by their favourite sergeant as well, so he didn't mind all that much.

“The infamous Frederick Abberline?” Nitya grinned at him and Jacob pressed his lips together to hide his own. He had shared his share of stories with her. Had been sure to describe him as best as he could.

His grin, however, was barely contained, when he saw Freddy's mock offence. “Freddy, that's Nitya – Nitya, Freddy”, he introduced them and they shook hands as Freddy eyed his friend up and down. 

“The friend from India I presume?” But there was no time for proper introductions as his attention was almost immediately drawn back to the scene of crime.

Nitya folded her hands behind her back as she watched him and Jacob. “How d'you do, sergeant… can we be of any help?”

That only earned Jacob a raised brow once more, so he merely shrugged mimicking his most innocent self for Frederick. “Let us help, Freddy, maybe we'll find a clue you won't.”

“No, you won't.” Unhappily Freddy ground his teeth. “But she might have better luck getting the women to talk, they're all dead silent.” His eyes were fixed on Nitya now who was clearly perplexed.

All of their eyes returned to the house the policemen had gathered around to investigate. This time Jacob recognised it for what it was. A cheap brothel and from inside came the wailing of the child. His glance shifted towards Nitya who gave the slightest nod to signal her okay.

They walked shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip as they approached the building and the bloody mess that awaited them inside. Jacob's glance passed over crying women and bitter faces, a bruise that he didn't get to place before they were led further inside by Frederick.

Jacob paused.

Messy. And sad. That where the first two thoughts that crossed his mind when he saw her sprawled across the wooden floorboards, body twisted into a grotesque, unnatural position in death. The smell of blood lingered thick in the air and the cold had preserved the body in the worst possible way. Leaving Jacob and Nitya a near untarnished view on the wounds which had killed the poor, the unfortunate, woman. The attacker had come and gone without so much of a scratch, but judging by her wounds there should be blood on his clothes.

“Sloppy,” Nitya observed. With a gentle kick, she sent the knife skittering across the floor for Jacob to pick up. “What do you think, a jealous customer?”

“Perhaps,” Jacob shrugged, “it was certainly someone very angry at our dear Miss.” A nod answered him, but he barely registered it as he examined the knife. The blood on the blade was dry. It had to have happened hours ago. Again his attention shifted toward the body. There were marks on her neck. “Let's see if the ladies of the establishment are willing to talk.” Jacob counted five in total at the current moment as his gaze scanned the building. Three of them were in the large foyer just around the corner.

Distraught they were huddled together as Jacob and Nitya approached them. “Relax, we're not with the police,” placating Jacob raised his hands. “My name's Jacob, this is Nitya, we're here to help you, but we need to know what happened to do that.”

One of the women raised her head and eyed him. She had her blonde hair pinned up in braids, similar to how he had once done it for Evie. Too elaborate for the busy life of assassins, but just right for a boring Sunday that Evie had spent reading to him and Jacob had found himself with nothing better to do than doing and undoing her hair to keep his thoughts from wandering as the chapters went on and on and on…

“Jacob Frye?” His brows raised, but Jacob nodded to encourage her. “You're an assassin.” She clearly didn't know the weight of the word, but she had picked his name up from the streets. “She too?” This time it was Nitya's turn to nod, so they both did. A long moment passed. “We'll talk to her,” the woman said at last. “You leave.” For now. She didn't say it, but Jacob could hear it in her tone.

“Suit, yourself, I'll be upstairs.” He replied as he wandered towards to the stairs.

Two more women were upstairs. The first one apathetic and unapproachable. The other grim-faced and clutching the crying toddler close as he entered her room without any qualms. There were all dressed and the occasion for his visit was as unfortunate as their circumstances, so Jacob figured there was no use in pretending.

She didn't budge, didn't move a centimetre, merely tried to stare him down as Jacob regarded her with some thought. “I think it's hungry.”

“Got no food,” she replied bitter. When Jacob took half a step closer she seemed to curl around the toddler. The child could be no older than two but it was a little hard to judge from the way she had wrapped herself around it.

No food. Not the mother. And none of the other women had approached her. “Ah, the victim's the mother,” Jacob muttered to himself and sighed. Lost he stood where he was. “There's got to be some food around here.” There had to be. These women had to eat.

His world was tinted in blue once again when Jacob looked around. It came too quick, so natural that by now he couldn't imagine ever having had to struggle with conjuring it up. Spots of gold glowed through the walls. A jar of honey here. Some cheese there, even some chocolate has been safely stowed away by one of the girls. Jacob decided on the honey and cheese. They were the easiest to find too. Somewhere along the way he'd found a plate too and some bread.

The child had stopped wailing by the time he returned seating himself on a chair across from where she sat on the bed, but it was still snivelling and the occasional upset tone came from the toddler's mouth. Quietly Jacob sat on the edge of the bed from the kid could watch him as he cut an edge of the cheese and offered it, but the child remained unperturbed.

The woman's stare bore into his chest with what Jacob could only describe as bewilderment, but he didn't let that stop himself. Nitya was downstairs talking to the others and he had to do something. “Mate, it's all we've got, honey and cheese and some bread to go with the honey for you, you gotta throw me a bone here, I know you're hungry.”

The kid kept staring at him with warm brown eyes that were red from crying – one seemed to be darker than the other, but it could have been the lighting as well – its cheeks tear streamed and nose still running. It had unkempt brown hair to match. One of its pupils was uncharacteristically large but otherwise, Jacob noticed nothing out of the ordinary. “What's its name?” Jacob asked quietly trying to bribe the kid with an edge of bread dipped in honey this time. Instead of actually eating the bread the kid instead sucked at the honey covered edge, without breaking its stare.

“Bad luck,” the woman replied, not yet ready to let go of the toddler. “Bad luck to name a child before it's second birthday.”

Jacob merely raised his brows, questioning her quietly before he shrugged and decided that it wasn't worth arguing over. A little smile curved the edges of his mouth when the kid had devoured the small piece of bread and Jacob was able to convince it to eat some more. Soon it was reaching out to grab more and Jacob was cleaning its face of the snot and tear streaks. 

“May I?” The question was clear without the words being spoken at all and soon Jacob had a toddler who has his hand in a honey jar on his lap. Getting the honey almost any place but his mouth.

“It can't stay,” the woman with the braids that reminded him of Evie said once Jacob had made his way back down. By now the kid had fallen asleep, exhausted from crying and finally comfortable and sated again. Her eyes shifted towards Nitya, then back to Jacob. “Take it with you, keep it, drown it, discard it, it doesn't matter – it needs to go.” Whatever emotion she felt for the child was buried beneath a stone-cold layer of grimness.

With question in his eyes and a sigh Jacob looked at Nitya who dismissed his question quietly, meaning they would talk about this later. “We'll just ask Freddy, shall we?” There was nothing else to do, although Jacob figured the police wouldn't have any use for a toddler in solving this crime.

“Well, I can't take it with me, my wife wouldn't understand, but… we clearly can't leave it with these women either if they're willing to drown it,” Frederick had to say on the matter while Jacob nodded along. Although he seemed visibly relaxed now that the crying had stopped. “I suggest you find a suitable home for the child.”

Some part of him knew at that moment, that despite his reassurances he wouldn't. That the child would stay with him for better or for worse. Despite Jack. Despite the responsibility, he didn't owe the kid, it would stay.

Bundled up in a large blanket Jacob had taken the child with him. Which had made for a rather quiet journey to Maxwell's flat where Julia was awaiting him, but not a little brother. She scrunched up her face as she watched Jacob place the sleeping bundle in the crib that had once been hers.

“Not sure I want a baby brother,” she noted with folded arms. “Baby's are noisy and you can't play with them.”

Smiling Jacob ran a hand over her head, tucking a few strands behind her ear as he did so. He'd spent most of the way here trying to come up with what he wanted to tell her but now that he was here, he wasn't so sure anymore. “C'mere,” Jacob said as he took her aside and sat her on a drawer. It brought Julia closer to eye level and somehow that always made serious subjects easier for him. “I hear you, okay? You don't like it, I hear you...” Jacob waited till he was sure that had sunken in before he continued. Quieter than before. “He's got nobody right now Julia, and he's going to stay here with you for a little while, while I sort things out, and I want you to be nice to him while he's here, he's still small, he can't defend himself, all he can do is cry and babble three word sentences, so please be nice to him.” 

She wasn't happy about that either, but she nodded after a long moment of silence. “What's the little devil's name?” She inquired, pulling her mouth to the side as she peered past him into the room that housed the crib.

“He doesn't–” Jacob halted, feeling Julia's piercing glance on himself, then swallowed. In his chest fluttered the small hope that she would warm up to him. His voice was unusually warm when he quietly said, “Maxwell… his name is Maxwell, but we're gonna call him Max for short.” His throat was closing up.

Nodding Julia stared at the crib again for a long moment, while Jacob patted her head. A small eternity seemed to pass till he found the words to speak again and he told her that he had to talk to Nitya in private for a short while. Promising her to return later that day in the same breath. It soothed her for the moment and Jacob wandered off into what could only be described as a small library.

“An interesting collection of books,” Nitya remarked with a smirk. Her fingers trailed along the spines as she passed the shelves.

She was surprised when Jacob replied, “they belonged to an interesting man.” A faint smile lined his face, ceasing any further questions she might have had for the moment. Jacob used the opportunity to ask what she had learnt from the women earlier today. The culprit in all matters was easily identified as the owner of the establishment. “I'll take care of it, you look after Jack, okay?”

“He doesn't like _me_ ,” Nitya smirked.

“He doesn't like _anybody_ ,” Jacob confirmed with a tired smile. “Please?” He asked, despite knowing that it wasn't necessary, still putting on his best puppy-dog-eyes. Nitya laughed softly and agreed. Still, Jacob couldn't shake off the guilt he felt for leaving her alone with Jack so often. “You're an angel, I owe you.”

“You do,” Nitya replied, still smiling, but more thoughtful this time. “I'll think about what it will be, while you're gone.”

“Don't make it dinner, I'm an awful cook,” he warned her and Nitya laughed again.

Jacob spent the time waiting for the dark to creep in and cover the city with Julia, now that she was a little older it was becoming harder to playfully sprinkle in the knowledge of the Assassins into her daily life without raising questions. Up until now, everything had been no more than a fun game to her. It had been easier that way for him. Easier to teach her and easier to shield her.

“Lewis and uncle George have been teaching me how to read and write,” she announced when he found her curled up on her bed with a book. “He says I'm doing good, but I need practice.” Julia smiled when she showed him the book she had been trying to read. A collection of fairy tales that Jacob had awfully bittersweet memories of. “What's wrong?” She frowned. “You look sad papa.”

Pressing his lips together Jacob turned his head away. “It's nothing, just an old memory… do you want to keep reading?” Eagerly she nodded, so Jacob sat down with her and Julia curled up by his side. Her reading was a bit clumsy, just as expected from a child her age, and she questioned him about the occasional word that she didn't know.

Pain, frayed at the edges, filled his chest when she read as Jacob was almost sure that he could hear Maxwell's voice along with hers.

With solemn words, Julia concluded her tale, proud of having finished the story mostly on her own. They were content in the silence that followed. “Papa… if you make me an assassin, you won't have to scared anymore that Jack will hurt me.”

Her words were so carefree, so nonchalant, so profound that Jacob didn't know how to react at first. He merely stared at her blonde head, as she sat up and rummaged around her nightstand for a bookmark. “Do you want to be one?” Jacob asked, knowing that she wouldn't grasp the full extent of her decision for many years to come, and yet he felt more comfortable with asking in the first place.

“I don't want to hide away forever,” Julia explained grimly. “I really hate Jack, I hate that takes up all your time, that _I_ have to be the one locked away like Rapunzel, not him...” Julia paused, “sometimes it makes me angry at you too.” She mumbled. “I know it's not your fault, but I wish you'd just make him go away.” There it was again. That little notion that indirectly urged him to kill Jack. Just as quickly as her expression had darkened, it lit up again however and she turned to face Jacob, smiling now. “Everyone always says how much help you and aunt Evie have been, I want to help people too like you did and I want to be strong and smart just like aunt Evie, I'll scare all the bullies and blighters away!” Now she had gotten up to stand on her small bed and raised both arms in a display of defiance. “I'm gonna be the strongest, smartest, best Assassin in the whole world!” She laughed so carefree again that Jacob almost wanted to decline. He wanted her to keep her life, her freedom and joy, but if this was what she wanted he would let her have it.

“All right”, Jacob replied with a slight nod. “Just let me get this situation sorted out,” he swirled a finger through the air, pointing at their surroundings, “and I'll teach you everything I know and everything you need to survive.”

A bright smile cracked on Julia's face and she beamed at him before she fell around his neck. “I promise I'll do good.” She smiled. And there it was in her eyes, that mischievous spark that he only knew from Evie.

Julia made no remark about Maxwell, in fact, she did pay him no mind at all while Jacob was around, though he would have liked to know if the short time together had already swayed her opinion ever so slightly. But of course that would take months at very least, or perhaps forever. By the time he left Julia was long since asleep.

It was an easy job. All it required was waiting and a little cooperation from one of the establishment's ladies. Convincing her was easy once Jacob had assured her he wouldn't let any harm befall her. Again her blonde hair was fixed in braids that made him think of Evie. “Lure him to a secluded place, I don't want to scare any of the others or your customers”, he told her and she took her place while both of them waited.

It was an awkward job. Watching them while he waited for the owner to come around. An unpleasant man that would soon breathe his last breath. Just as promised Jacob delivered a blade to his back and eased the dying man onto a nearby chair.

“What do we do with him?” The woman asked, her previously cheerful demeanour gone the same instant Jacob had plunged his blade into her employer. “Do we call the police?”

“No, I'll get rid of his body, you pretend nothing happened, I presume none of you will miss him so I leave it to you to sort this out on your own, what I do need is somebody to run this place,” Jacob stated as he met her piercing gaze, “somebody I can trust.”

“What does that matter to you?” The woman had put her arms on her hips, sizing him up and down with scrutiny now. Likely fearing Jacob wanted to take over where his victim had left off.

“Well...” Jacob cocked his head, gesturing at her figure when he said, “powerful, influential and notorious men come here for your… services and they're more than willing to let their guard down, cause you're women and they won't think any of it.”

The blonde woman snorted, then nodded, but didn't avert her eyes. “I see what you're getting at, what's in it for us?”

Without missing a beat, Jacob said, “protection – from us, and the Rooks, we'll be… your bodyguards of sort and if one of your girls is in trouble, you come to me and we'll take care that she comes back safe and in one piece, we do help in any way we can, but I figure that's the most pressing point for you right now.” Jacob let her consider his offer while he went to find a carriage and a couple of rooks to dispose of the body. When he came back the blonde woman had seated herself across from the bloody chair her late employer had died in, scrutinising the stain with bitter eyes and thin lips. She barely even noticed him entering. It took another long while for her to speak that allowed Jacob to fully appreciate the room they were in. There wasn't much furniture except for the bed, a dresser and the two chairs, but there were a lot of pillows and the walls had been nicely decorated with art and tapestries. The air was thick with the smell of perfume no matter the fact that an open window had been airing the room for quite a while now.

“What sort of information are you looking for?” She questioned at last, without actually acknowledging his presence in any other way.

Jacob shrugged. “Rumours… anything regarding Templars, corrupt politicians, gang wars, anything that could put London in danger really.”

The expression on her face softened when she rose. “Name's Lydia, how do you do.”

“Jacob Frye, charmed.” His reply got him an eye roll and the question what exactly he had meant by Templar. Which warranted only a short explanation as their catchphrase and the cross pattée rung a bell. Lydia nodded quickly and recalled a few past experiences. He promised to come back in a couple days.

When he came home, to what barely felt like home anymore because if it weren't for Nitya it would be cold and empty because Jack was almost always gone now, Jacob marked the location of the brothel on the map he kept on the wall to the side of his desk. One down. So many more to go.

Nitya wasn't asleep when he crawled into bed beside her. She never was. It was odd arrangement they had, but it worked like a charm for their restless souls that didn't like to be on their own on the verge of sleep.

“How did it go?” She muttered and Jacob told her in a quiet voice as her eyes closed and she slowly drifted off to sleep. “Hmm...” Was all the reply he got from her.

She didn't know yet that his plan involved to recreate Ezio's network of scantily dressed informants, but the conversation would come soon enough and would be just as awkward as expected. He had little chance of doing this on his own, unless through similar means as with Lydia.

 

_London, January 1878_

“What became of the child from last month? Have you found a family for it yet?”

The Templars had led Jacob to Freddy's office, which somehow had turned into a conversation about Evie, India and recent cases. Jacob had never been a fan of Scotland Yard, but he had come to like Frederick's office and their occasional conversations. Ever since Evie had left they had been forced to find a way to get along, but once their initial dispute about his anarchistic tendencies had been settled Jacob had found Freddy amiable.

“Well, I lied I'm keeping it, I just wanted you to shut up,” Jacob admitted with a shrug. Giving Freddy his most endearing smile.

Silence followed. “You already think you can't protect the one you have from Jack, how do you think this is going to work out with two?” This time it was Jacob who forced the silence on, grinding his teeth. Too well aware of his own shortcomings in the situation. He wasn't angry at Freddy, but if he had opened his mouth it would have come across like it.

An unfair slight, that he would have given in all those years ago when Evie and him had first come to London, but now only made him feel like he was becoming his father. Still a fate worse than death, if anyone would have asked him.

“I'm working on it,” Jacob managed between gritted teeth.

A sigh answered him. “That was no criticism, Jacob,” Freddy's voice had softened, “but you know how Jack is, and if I dare say I doubt he will change now.”

“I changed,” Jacob said but grimaced all the same. His reason wouldn't ever work for Jack, so when he turned his head to meet Freddy's gaze there was a painful glimmer in his own.

He didn't know why he admitted it, but with a breath, Jacob told him, “I named him Maxwell.” Freddy furrowed his brows in response, showing no recognition for his motif. “Like Maxwell Roth… his name still holds influence over those who remember, it's a dangerous, a powerful name.” Silent question answered him and just like that, they moved on to the next topic when Frederick spoke again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really important question you might be asking yourself: did I doom that kid or did I doom Jacob with that kid? The answer is you can only find out if you read this story till the very end.
> 
> Preview for the 20th:  
> »George's mouth opened but nothing came out because Clara entered the room halting both of them in their conversation.«


	14. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do they say about worst-case scenarios again? Make them happen? Hmmmm. But hey George is back and finally, Jacob gets to address some stuff. You guys, you have no idea, how many times I tried for Jacob to have that conversation ok. It took 13 chapters to get here and finally have him talk about these things. You have no idea how upset I have been with that man while writing this fic.
> 
> Fair warning again: more blood and more dead people. Right off the bat. Not like three sections down. Fun times.

_London, February 1878_

It had been bound to go wrong. It had been bound to come back to bite him. Just like with Maxwell Jacob had known from the start. Just like with Maxwell Jacob had chosen to ignore the warnings. Once again thinking himself capable of handling the situation. Once again having to feel it slip through his fingers.

The seconds passed too fast and too slow within the beat that his heart took to jump to his throat. Jack, was the last thought Jacob remembered actively thinking before he barged upstairs, through the door and in-between the two children. Nitya was on the floor between them, chest heaving, her arms pressed to wound on her stomach. Spilling blood quicker than she could try to hold it back. There was terror in her eyes. White terror that Jacob noticed, but couldn't respond to.

“Jack...” His voice was still firm. Still sure, oh so sure he'd be able to handle the situation. “Calm down, this is exactly what I didn't want you to do, please…” Jacob's voice cracked despite his best effort. “Jack, please, I didn't want to hurt you or have you hurting her and I didn't know how else to do this, you have to believe me...” His voice had grown softer, the plea stronger.

Behind him Julia cowered with the wall to her back, clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. Eyes wide with fear, she shook with every quiet sob. Her lip had started bleeding from where she had bitten down to keep herself quiet.

Shifting his jaw Jack squinted. “Cut the bloody bullshit, you never cared about me, you just wanted to keep me under control, confine me to a golden cage, you–”

It was like being whipped in the face by his own emotions and Jacob couldn't hide the torment they brought with them. “I am trying to help you, Jack,” Jacob growled in frustration.

“Well you can't!” Jack snapped back, stomping his foot with a might bigger and stronger than his lanky body could possibly harbour. “And she has to go.” His knife, still dripping blood was pointed past him at Julia. “I'll make her go away, and everything will be as it was...” The grin on Jack's face half manic, half desperate.

“No.” Jacob replied grim-faced. “Jack, both of you have a place in my life, but not like this, if you hurt her...” He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't possibly think of what he would do to himself or to Jack if it happened.

Jack furrowed his brows, sneering now. “You wouldn't hurt me, you're too weak”, he taunted.

Jacob tensed when Jack took a step forward. It was a dare, unspoken but with every fibre of his being. He had always been good at trusting his body to carry him (mostly) intact through a fight. To act without thought and come out alive. He knew how to do that. He knew how to defend what he loved, but he didn't know how to act against Jack.

It wouldn't be a fight. It would be brutal and senseless and over before it began if he raised his hands against him. Despite that they were clenched at his sides. Shaking from the strain of bottled up emotions and anxiousness of knowing he had to act fast. Had to act now.

Jack had stopped wagering his odds for a win, perhaps come to the conclusion that he could overpower Jacob or perhaps it didn't matter. Jacob thought he knew which one of the two it was for Jack, but he didn't get to consider his thoughts when Jack abruptly moved towards him. Blade flashing, his face a grimace of anger.

Jacob's body moved before his actions registered in his conscience, but by then it was already too late. Swiftly he had countered Jack's attack, blocking another with the bracer on his arm and thrown him to the ground. Fingers pressed into the soft flesh of his throat Jacob realised the placement of his hidden blade. He had meant to (he would later berate himself for this, but now there was no time to think) hold the edge against his throat, but the warm blood pooling under his hand betrayed his efforts.

It was stuck in the floor right beneath Jack's shoulder. Shaking, realising what he had done, Jacob attempted to break it loose from the wood so it would retract, but it wouldn't. In a split-second decision Jacob broke the blade of the bracer, feeling the tear in his wrist but feeling nothing much at all when he stood over a gasping Jack. “I'm sorry...” He whispered. But when he reached out to offer help, any kind of assistance Jack scampered backwards with fear in his eyes. “I didn't mean to… _Jack…!_ ”

But Jack had dragged himself away and Jacob couldn't afford to stare at the empty space where he had been anymore. All that lingered of his presence was the hateful stare with which he had departed.

The relief wasn't quite there yet when he turned towards Julia, only halted by the weak tug of Nitya's hand on his pants. He'd believed her dead already. He hadn't been thinking. He wanted to pick up Julia, but instead he knelt to cradle Nitya's dying body. She didn't speak, only closed her eyes and Jacob smoothed her dark hair back as the blood kept spilling from her stomach. “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry it shouldn't have been you.”

Nitya didn't speak, although the breath from her lips seemed to indicate something was on her tongue. Softly, with guilt coiling in his stomach Jacob kept running his fingers through her hair. Each touch a comfort, a quiet goodbye, as he squeezed her hand, slick from the blood she had been trying to keep from spilling. But it was physical weakness that allowed her hand to slip from his.

It was the same all over again. Jack had slipped through his fingers the same way Maxwell had, but this time an innocent life had paid the price.

Time passed by too slowly and too fast all at once, with the only indicator of it passing how uncomfortable the wooden floor grew beneath his legs. An eternity had passed within the span of minutes by the time Jacob managed to tear himself away from the corpse in his arms. Instead, he gathered Julia into them, who had stopped crying but hadn't spoken a word since his arrival either. “I'm so sorry,” Jacob breathed into her hair, running a hand up and down her back. “I'm so glad you're okay… so glad.” Julia clung to him with all the might her eight-year-old hands managed, and Jacob felt life surging through him despite how hard he clenched his jaw.

They had to go. If they didn't Jack would return to finish what he had started as soon as someone would have patched him up. Knowing Jack, he would come for them regardless of his physical state, but now that Jacob looked around and realised where he was his bones were becoming weary. And it certainly wasn't Julia's weight that made his arms heavy. Along with his chest and lungs and heart as he realised this was goodbye for good.

It should have been easy, but he had grown attached to Maxwell's flat. To the idea he had been in love with. Once, so very long ago. More than that, it had been his safe haven for the longest time and the place where Julia had grown up in, it had become the Alhambra's negative. “Goodbye Maxwell,” Jacob breathed with one last glance around, and then he left. Knowing that if he didn't go immediately he wouldn't be able to go at all. It was a different matter than with Maxwell. The flat wouldn't kill anyone, although it had certainly taken its tribute now and Jacob couldn't deny that the blood on the floor and the body seemed right at home with everything else.

He hadn't left without Maxwell's namesake of course. He'd been curled up in his crib, scared from all the shouting but safe at the end of the hallway. Safe through sheer luck. Luck in quantities that made Jacob consider thanking any and all deities that listened. Because he hadn't started crying till Jacob picked him up.

It felt like running, when he made his way to the train station, Maxwell on his arm and Julia at his hand. And while there was a part of him which was proud of her, Jacob knew there was nothing to be proud of about her pale face and cold eyes. He should have never let it come to this.

 

_Crawley, February 1878_

George handled the arrival of the second child better than expected and helped him tuck both into bed. Julia didn't complain when they put Maxwell next to her. She merely curled her arms around him and nestled her head against his unruly dark hair.

It wasn't until afterwards that Jacob was really starting to feel the exhaustion. Before it had only been an undertone, strings pulling his muscles taut, but now he felt like collapsing. His gaze grazed George as he thought about sinking down and never getting up again. But as laboured as his breath felt it came out just fine, and as weak as his legs seemed they had no trouble carrying him towards the couch. There was blood on his hands, on his clothes still that he was only becoming aware of now. Lost Jacob looked up when George placed a hand on his shoulder and sat down next to him.

“What happened, Jacob?” He asked. “You look tired,” his eyes seemed to say.

A part of him wanted to cry. Another wanted to scream and shout. Yet another wanted to grab his kids and run. But all he did was close his eyes and sink forward. The weight of his body in his own hands which he buried his in hair.

Gently George's hand ran down his back, smoothing the fabric of his coat as they sat in silence and Jacob gradually leaned against him. “Come to London.” It wasn't a request or a question at all, it was a plea.

“Jacob,” the reply was just as gentle as his hand, “you know I can't just do that.” He said despite the concern on his face.

“You don't understand,” Jacob replied, lips pressed together and shaking his head. “Jack killed Nitya.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. “He almost killed Julia and Max, I need your help, I need you.” All the emphasis Jacob put on those words was just another plea. His glance fell onto the blood on his hand and he had to turn it away quick enough not to feel sick. “I can't do this alone...” His voice had grown shaky and his jaw was quivering.

“Whatever happened is not your fault, Jacob, Jack was a powder keg, you knew that and you did your best to help him not become…” George struggled for words. “ _This_.”

Without being prompted to Jacob straightened himself and took a quiet breath as he showed George the stub of what once had been a hidden blade. “He tried to kill Julia, and I hurt him, I never meant to, I just acted, it was stupid and selfish and...” Jacob halted, unwilling to say what was on his tongue. Unable to admit how much that scared him. How much his father being right angered him all the same. “I don't know what happened, I wasn't there, I just got there and Nitya was already on the ground bleeding and I couldn't help her cause I had to keep Jack at bay without getting anyone else injured – I never wanted to hurt him, George, he's never going to put an ounce of trust in me again.”

There was a long moment of silence between them in which unspoken words passed between them, unsaid but not unheard. “I'll convince the council, I'm sure there's someone else who can take your place, just… come with me to London, help me sort this out.”

George frowned, his hand still resting on Jacob's back rubbing small circles, but he didn't speak. And Jacob didn't know where to begin. He slept on the couch, fire and smoke soaring high in his chest as he fell asleep.

Solemn and quiet Julia marched down the stairs holding Maxwell's tiny hand. They were slow cause his steps weren't as sure as hers, but they made it on their own. Only when he saw Jacob his face lit up and he waddled over to be picked up, tugging his sister along whose smile appeared strained. Without a word Jacob opened his arms to allow both of them to crawl into his lap and while Max demanded food to be given to him Julia merely wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “Both of you alright?” Jacob asked.

Julia shook her head, crying a few silent tears into his shoulder, while for Maxwell seemingly nothing had changed. The shouting had come and gone, but his world hadn't changed. “ _I want to kill him_ ,” Julia whispered. Giving a voice to the sentiment she had expressed so many times before.

Sighing Jacob moved Maxwell to the floor so he could bother George as much as anyone else present, while Jacob smoothed Julia's hair back and cupped her face. “I know...” He said at last, feeling like it was the last thing he should encourage as a parent, but it was there and she had every right to be hateful towards Jack. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Julia shook her head, just buried her face in his shoulder again. While Jacob was almost sure he could feel the wrath she swallowed. “I'm here if you need me,” he assured her anyway.

 

_London, March 1878_

It had been a weird couple weeks with their talks with the council and then returning to London. There hadn't been any room to talk when Jacob had been forced to break the news to the others. It was almost out of habit that he kept Julia away from them, only Clara he allowed to come by once everything notable had been moved from Maxwell's flat and his own to come together in their new home. Despite expectations her face had lit up when she met Julia. For a spare moment she had gaped and then she had smiled from ear to ear almost a laugh on her lips, all grief forgotten for those blissful five seconds. And when she had made Julia laugh for the barest moment, for the first time since they had come back from Crawley Jacob had a sense of things getting better.

It was needless to say that Clara, despite everything, had been delighted to meet his daughter. Assuring her, and through that him, she and Maxwell would always be welcome at Babylon Alley. It was the first moment since Nitya's death that Jacob felt something akin to calm. He'd brought the big armchair from Maxwell's flat to curl up in and nap or work. Right now Jacob lounged in it, partially seeking the comfort of kinder memories.

“You look comfortable,” George remarked, there was the hint of a smile on his face.

There hadn't been much to laugh about lately. From the other room, they could hear Clara and occasionally Julia talking. Maxwell merely babbled nonsensical strings of words for all that he could tell.

“What is it that you're not telling me?”

There was caution in George's voice when he spoke, and there was emphasis but Jacob didn't know what for. Usually it was reserved for a reprimand, but they were past that weren't they? Instead of replying Jacob drew his legs close and tucked his heels onto the edge of the chair. Jacob decided to dare it anyway. “It's Jack,” he said. “Go on,” George's expression quietly said when Jacob's words stopped there. “It's not Jack...” Jacob emphasised, then with a sigh he added, “but it's Jack.” And that was all he knew how to say because when he looked up George had folded his arms and was gazing at him with concern.

Whatever George had wanted to say was shot down by the pained expression on Jacob's face. “You're wrong,” his voice was weary now, “you may be right, but I failed him so it doesn't matter much cause it feels like you're wrong all the same.”

“I'm wrong about what?” George inquired after a while, visibly mulling over his words.

Jacob opened his mouth, but when he couldn't speak only sucked in his breath. “Jack said, I didn't want him, I didn't care about him, I...” Jacob shook his head, pressing his lips together in a grim smile. “And it may feel the opposite for me,” only now Jacob managed to drag himself into an upright sitting position, “but frankly, that doesn't matter because I failed in making him believe that he's just as important to me as Julia, or Max… even Clara, George, and that's not… I never… you have no idea how much I hate myself for doing that to him.” Agitated Jacob had gotten up, not knowing what to do with the hurt and anger and frustration – or himself. His body wanted to pace, if there was nothing to sucker punch it was the least he could do to work against the turmoil inside him. “Figures that'd be me to turn out just like father.” Jacob didn't know if he was mocking himself or the voice of his sister when he spoke. Most likely both.

The penny dropped. He could watch it fall from the expression on George's face and knew just when it hit the ground, but Jacob wouldn't let him speak or gather his thoughts from there. Instead, he continued. “And quite frankly, thinking about it like that – I'm disgusted with myself too.” He had meant to help Jack, not turn him into a manic version of Maxwell and his own younger self. “I'd say that's the worst part, but you know, then I think that I possibly raised and unleashed Maxwell's successor and he's going to be worse and it's going to be my fault because I couldn't kill a child, but considering I can't recall the last time the reasons for my decisions mattered, how about I go out and beat a few templars to a pulp so I'll feel better about fucking up and your episteme about Jacob and the world stays intact.”

Fists clenched Jacob had stopped talking. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for George to recover his in the moments of silence, but instead of the expected rebuke something soft and kind washed over George's face, something pitying and empathetic. Something guilty and pained, hurt even. And despite his lack of words Jacob felt like crying more than screaming, surprised at himself and the sound that crossed his vocal chords so dangerously close to a sob.

“Bloody hell, why did you never talk to me.” As painful as it was to realise, there was no need to question why he hadn't told Evie. It was no rebuke either, simply disbelief. “Did you really think, I cared that little about you? Jacob...” There was nothing to add, nothing to say, just the blunted edges of old pain carving itself a comfortable hollow in their chests.

“Jacob...” The repetition of his name was too gentle for the hurt he felt and he wanted to tear it to shreds out of sheer habit. Just to numb the pain for another short while.

George came a step closer. “The only reason I ever stayed in Crawley were you and Evie.” He placed a hand on the side of Jacob's head running it through his hair, only to let it glide down his face and onto his shoulder. All the while Jacob kept his lips pressed into a bitter line and his eyes cast down, but George felt the weight of his head against his hand when Jacob leaned against it ever so slightly. “I wanted to leave, and I would have if it hadn't been for your mother's death and _your father_.” The way he said that last two words made no further explanation necessary.

“You wanted to leave?” Jacob parroted, shoving his jaw forward because he didn't want to make it that easy for him. “Well that's coming a little late don't you think?” He spat out.

Drawing a quiet breath George tightened the grip on Jacob's shoulder. “Don't you dare blame me for what Ethan did wrong Jacob, that's not fair, especially now.”

Frustrated Jacob growled and while he did stop his feet his fists hit the air all the same. “Then tell me where I am supposed to leave this,” he hissed. “You never did a good job at making me feel good enough either!” It was a hurtful statement, he could see it in George’s eyes, but against expectations, Jacob did not receive retaliation for it.

George's mouth opened but nothing came out because Clara entered the room halting both of them in their conversation.

“I wanted to take Julia to Babylon Alley, see if a bit of company and other kids can cheer her up a little”, Clara said, a thin but cheerful smile on her lips.

Jacob shrugged off George's hand turning his head away to gather himself and think. “Sure,” he said. The word came out pressed. “Bring her back before it gets dark or when she wants home.”

Clara nodded. “Sure...” She paused, eyed them both for a moment but didn't say anything when she left. After a moment they could hear her talking to Julia and Jacob watched them disappear outside from the corner of his eye. Trying for a smile as he waved Julia goodbye when they passed.

George had turned to pace the next time Jacob glanced at him. The words were on his tongue, but he didn't know how to say them, or even what he wanted to say in the first place.

Clara had returned Julia just in time for dinner and bed, and though she crawled into bed all by herself she wouldn't sleep till Jacob sat by her side. Holding her small hand to reassure her she wasn't alone. “She takes after you,” Clara had told him full of amused bewilderment when she had returned Julia. Jacob figured it had been meant to be a compliment. He'd given George a stack of files to rifle through. Research, cases, targets and the informant network he wanted to build were their subjects and he had been poring over them ever since Jacob had given them to him earlier that day.

Absent-mindedly he was carding his fingers through Julia's hair. Jacob had no intention of getting up and facing George but Maxwell was whining quietly and forcing him to figure out what caused his newest addition to the family to be upset. Frowning a little Jacob picked him up from his little bed. “C'mere you little mobsman, what's wrong?” But there was no answer only more snivelling. “What's it? Are you hungry? … Thirsty? Need attention? Scared?”

“Dark scary,” Maxwell muttered into his shoulder. Most understanding Jacob nodded, reassuring him that he would protect him as he walked around his room with slow steps. Hoping that rubbing his back would put him to sleep again sooner than later. Cooing soft little words into his ear.

George still sat where he had left him when he extended his walking circle because evidently little Maxwell couldn't be soothed while still in the dark and the only lit lamp happened to be where George was. Only then was he slowly starting to calm down when Jacob rocked him back to sleep in his arms. Pulling his mouth to the side Jacob regarded the sleeping toddler in his arms. He was about to say something when George spoke instead.

“I wish Cecily could see you now...” He spoke with such profound affection that Jacob couldn't do anything but stare at George's smiling face.

In his arms, Maxwell slept soundly, even when Jacob shifted him into a more comfortable position. There was something about George's expression that he had trouble placing and tracing back to its origin so he just blinked at him all dumbfound.

“I know Ethan never talked about her with you, even though I wanted him to–”

“Why did _you_ never talk about her?” Jacob interrupted him before George had even finished. A quite justified inquiry.

His words caused George to halt and visibly suck in his breath and for an odd moment his face seemed to flush. But then he averted his eyes and kneaded the spot at the top of his nose. “Another time!” He said decidedly. It was the same voice he had used when he and Evie had been kids and they had been trying to wheedle more candy out of him.

This time around Jacob only raised a brow, but he let George find his words again and pick up where he had left off.

“I couldn't...” George said at last but was so quiet that Jacob couldn't help wonder about his reasons. “You are so much like her…” The smile had returned. A small, soft-hearted, kind smile that made him look much younger and kinder. When Jacob made a dismissive sound George's expression grew somewhat more stern. “I'm not saying that appease your bad mood, I mean it, Jacob.”

Quiet passed in between them while Jacob didn't know what to say and George seemingly didn't know where to begin.

“Your opportunism is hers,” George said after what was an eternity of thinking to Jacob. “She was intelligent, but that wasn't what made her a good assassin, she could make her plans at a moment's spur and succeed, she was incredible.” A little happy spark danced across George's face as he spoke. He paused, smiling, leaning back into the couch. “You have her eyes… not quite but, it's the same spark when you're excited about something it's like she's with you in spirit.”

Even Jacob couldn't fight the smile on his lips now, reminded of a certain stage when he cast his eyes down. He cast the memory aside without a second thought. In the beginning it had been hard not to think of Maxwell in George's company, always seeking to soothe the hurt, but right now it was Jack occupying his heart and mind and soul. Making it hard to focus on anything else. “I wish I could have met her… I wonder if she would have liked us.”

George blinked, taken aback by Jacob's wording, but then nodded to himself all the same. “She would have adored you I'm sure,” he said, the little smile back on his lips. It made him look so much more approachable and Jacob wanted nothing more than to believe him. “Granted...” George sighed. “Eth's not much of a competition.”

Despite it all both of them couldn't help the quiet laughter those words sparked. And there was something, something vulnerable, something heartfelt about George's expression that Jacob watched with fascination.

“I was so angry with him back then… you have no idea,” George admitted, shaking his head. “Cecily was as old as you are now, Eth just a little older than when you and Evie first came to London… in retrospect that didn't put him in the best position to deal with everything that had happened.”

Jacob scoffed, turning his head away, but instead of clarifying what he meant he said instead. “Guess it runs in the family then.” With a charming smile he winked.

“Shut up.” Near exasperated, and what seemed to be a little embarrassed George rolled his eyes. “This is different… you know that...” Still, the glance with which he regarded Jacob seemingly wanted to make extra sure of that. They had never established any clear lines for whatever they had gotten themselves into, but it had never been necessary either.

“Jacob...” George halted, furrowing his brows as he thought, “you're not just a sum of the parts you share with your parents, you're not your sister's shadow and I'm sorry Ethan made you feel like that for so long that you don't think whatever's left is good enough to be its own person.” When he was met with confusion George tapped the back of his fingers against the file he was holding. “Someone influenced this, you… it's very Jacob, that's why Evie likely can't tell, but if the real Jacob is that insecure you didn't think that up yourself, and you're not doing it to impress Evie or appease your father, this definitely doesn't come from Ethan's teachings.” His voice had grown softer, more gentle. “I'm not saying that's bad, but I think London could use a little more Jacob… don't you think?”

Jacob smiled involuntarily. 

 

_London, April 1878_

Julia stared at the gravestone as if she was trying to will Nitya back to life while Maxwell tugged at Jacob's coat being all but enthralled by being carried around in the rain and staring at a slab of stone. Or alternatively Jacob's face because he had quickly lost interest.

Jacob had seen that Nitya had received a proper burial soon after he had arrived in Crawley, but Jack's presence had made it impossible for him to actually take Julia to see the gravestone up until now. “I'm sorry we couldn't go when they buried her,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand.

She squeezed back with all the might of an eight-year-old. “It's okay,” Julia mumbled. “You didn't want Jack to find us...” She looked at Maxwell and then up at him, trying for a smile. “I know you try really hard, I just wish you didn't have to.” This time she couldn't hold the tears back and wiped them off her face with the corner of her sleeve. All Jacob wanted to do in that moment was to pick her up and carry her back home to safety.

“Can we bring her flowers more often? I think she'd like that...”

“We can bring her as many flowers as you like, Jube,” Jacob replied and let her cry into his side and wrap his arms around him when she did. She was still so small. Just as small as Jack had been when he'd picked him up. As small as he had hoped Jack would stay forever so he didn't have to worry about the casualties. “We will make sure she's remembered for her bravery… but let's go home, for now, it's getting cold and Max shouldn't be out in the rain for so long.”

Julia didn't object, but she was clearly rapt in thought as they made their way back. “I want her to come back, but… she's not coming back, I know that I just really wish she could, it makes me sad that she's not around, she was so nice and you were always happy and smiling… like we were a real family.”

“We're still a real family,” Jacob replied softly. He squeezed her hand again and Julia squeezed back.

“I know, but I want a mum too,” Julia replied with a shake of her head. “I think it would be nice...” She tilted her head instead.

“What if you get two fathers instead?” The question was almost entirely unprompted and he hadn't meant to ask it at all, but judging by the look on Julia's face she wasn't against it. If anything she had never considered that at all. So the only answer Jacob got was stunned silence.

 

_London, June 1878_

It was one of the few hot days a year. Hot enough to remind him of the oppressive heat of the fire inside the Alhambra if he closed his eyes and focused on the memory of how difficult it had been to breath.

He had let the words inside him sit and simmer till they were ready to be spoken. Perhaps the memory of the fire was pushing them towards his tongue. They had closed the blinds and hung up sheets in front of the windows that had none to hide from the sun. Everyone had ditched the shirts but that Jacob was staring at George was a mere coincidence because he couldn't shake off the thought of wanting to talk to him.

Julia had been entertaining Maxwell by telling him stories and complaining that she didn't want to pick him up cause that was exhausting, or hug him cause it was too hot. She had much like Evie when they had been younger ditched all extra clothes and taken to wandering around the flat in her undergarments. There was no harm in letting her as long as she didn't wander outside.

Jacob prodded George's leg with his foot under the table but didn't get much more out from him than a quiet hum. He did again. When that still didn't get him the wanted attention Jacob awkwardly cleared his throat. “Maxwell Roth,” he said just loud enough for George to hear.

Against all odds, Jacob found himself awkwardly scratching the back of his neck when George slowly raised his glance from the book. Like Evie, he always had his nose buried in something. Like with Evie Jacob couldn't admit that he found it endearing to some degree.

“I said–”

“I know what you said, I was hoping you'll tell me why,” George clarified.

Jacob wet his lips. “My Maxwell… Maxwell Roth… go on do your worst.” Better to get it over with quickly. The moments it took for his words to click passed by agonisingly slow.

Groaning George closed his book, first seemingly sinking into his chair but then clearly agitated enough to stand up. “You can't be serious…” He muttered. “Oh God you are serious,” he added after a quick glance at Jacob to confirm his thoughts. There was a curious moment where George's mouth just hung open and he struggled for words, but then he closed his mouth and remained silent.

“I just admitted to sleeping with the leader of the blighters when I should have killed him, aren't you angry?” Jacob couldn't help the bite that his words had when he spoke. Silence answered and Jacob wanted to slam his fists onto the table, feeling queasy when that made him think of Jack and Maxwell at the same time. “Say something, goddamn it, George!” The anger lay hot and heavy on his tongue, making it almost painful to hold it back.

And when he did his answer came quiet, and fragile like a cracked mirror. “No...” The word weighed heavy in the silence between them. “Because you've been carrying that hurt around since the first time you came to visit me with Clara and that time before and some more, and I'm sorry but I'm not that much of an arsehole, I'm not Ethan and I don't want to be, even when I wanted to fill the gap he left behind… so don't force me into that, Jacob, I'm not aiding you in letting you hurt yourself.”

Closing his eyes Jacob thought he could smell the stench of burnt textiles, wood and flesh again which had mingled in the worst way inside the Alhambra. It was enough to make breathing hard even though the air was clear. A part of him wanted to cry, another wanted to shove George. Instead, Jacob clawed at the table, feeling satisfaction soar through him at the splinters that caught under his nails and in his skin.

“Stop it, Jacob.” He hadn't realised George had stepped closer till he found his hand placed on his. “Stop it...” There was gentle force in his grip when he pried Jacob's hands off the table. He only frowned at the marks Jacob's nails had left on the wood. “See, this...” George said, focused on picking the splinters from his skin and soothing the bleeding nails, “is what makes me worry about you.”

Perplexed Jacob stared. At George and their hands and he felt like he was five all over again. Five, with skinned knees and elbows, trying not to cry over the pain from the fall. But he'd been a child and cried anyway because of the pain and distress. Just like back then George's voice was a soothing calm tone, but unlike back then it now had a sharper, more serious edge to it. “No, I don't agree with your actions Jacob, but I'm not going to get angry at you over something that happened some ten years ago with a man who's been dead ever since… that's as useless at shouting at the clouds to go away.” His disgruntled sigh seemed to say, “look at what you've done,” when he examined a bloody nail where Jacob had chipped off a piece in his anger. “Don't make this into a fight when it doesn't need to be, alright? I'm not your enemy, Jacob… I'm not.”

Jacob kept staring at his hands, trying to focus on George's while his mind blanked most of everything except for a few single thoughts. He couldn't say which came first, the memory of the thought of their father, and he couldn't remember if he had ever taken care of his skinned knees. Perhaps there was no first, perhaps it had been the same instance. After that came the hurt, the familiar hungry hollow that demanded blood in his mouth. Jacob sucked the breath in through his nose, like a tearless almost snivel as he pressed his lips together. 

“I was _so_ stupid...” Jacob couldn't look him in the eye, so he had cast his gaze upwards as he moved it around and let go of a curt sigh. “And I don't mean, I didn't see that he was dangerous, as if I don't know that I should have just killed him first chance I had, I don't mean, I didn't know that I was in over my head, because I did know, and I did see that he was dangerous, you all act like I'm so bloody fucking stupid, like I don't recognise danger when it's in front of me coloured bright red, and I don't mean I ever believed… I never believed…” Jacob paused to let out another breath, his eyes had moved back to their hands again. “I went in there”, into the Alhambra, the memory was unexpectedly vivid and vibrant, “expecting a fight, I _wanted_ a fight, he was the leader of the Blighters, he trained Starrick's gang leaders, everybody feared him, all I wanted was to bash his head in...” The gentle movement of George's thumb across his palm made him stop in his tracks for a moment before he finally said. “I _knew_ all that, I just…” Jacob closed his eyes, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and quiet the anxious fluttering in his chest that was making it hard to breathe. “I _wanted_ that feeling of… of being _wanted_ , someone being happy to see _me_ for once… of not being shot down the very moment I open I my mouth, of finally being enough, I wanted that more than I cared about getting hurt or the city suffering in the process and I _knew_ it was stupid, I _know_ it's stupid and I didn't want to kill him, I wanted to keep that, I wanted to keep _him_ but it was the only solution I saw and I didn't know what to do and I couldn't talk to Evie and I didn't want to talk to Henry and there wasn't anyone else and...”

The words got lost when Jacob bit down on his lower lip fighting back the tears that had been coming. Shoving George's hands off his face, as he quietly regained his composure. Shoulders heaving and controlled breaths. He didn't want to cry tears for Maxwell who didn't deserve them and he felt stupid crying them for himself. So he wouldn't Jacob told himself.

He didn't know what to make of the expression on George's face that looked so pained and so incredibly guilty at the very same time because for a moment he was just as lost as he had been back then when he had first come to London with his sister. “It hurts”, was all that Jacob managed to get out while more tears rolled down his face. “I miss him, I don't know what to do, I wish I never killed him,” Jacob managed to dry the tears a second time. “All I know is that it was necessary...” He breathed. “No matter what I felt or didn't feel, or what I wanted and there's no way I can go back on this decision… ever, he's gone and everything just hurts.” The pain in his voice had ebbed away, leaving nothing but exhaustion.

George hadn't spoken a single word, but he moved closer and allowed Jacob to lean against him for comfort and safety.

He hadn't been able to sleep later that night, but instead of having to crawl out of bed and admit his defeat Jacob found that George had snuck into his room. Sitting on the window sill he had his nose buried in some book, again. But it didn't look like he was doing any actual reading though when Jacob watched him. With a quiet sigh, he rolled onto his side and did just that. His bandaged fingertips felt odd on any surface they touched and Jacob couldn't keep himself from running his thumb over them, while his other arm rested under his head.

“You used to patch me and Evie up when we still lived with grandma.” Jacob watched a small smile flutter over George's face, but he neither moved nor looked up from the pages he was staring at.

“I didn't think you'd remember that...” George admitted quietly. He cleared his throat.

Sighing Jacob tapped his fingers against the frame of his bed. “I remember waking up and watching Evie's hair being done, and the way she used to cry herself to sleep when our father wouldn't come home, I remember that everyone thought we wouldn't understand cause we were so little but we did, I remember stealing cookies with VV and trying to beat each other to the top of the shelf… and that one time when we were eight and you came to rescue us from that dog on the apple orchard, we were stuck on that tree for hours and we thought nobody was ever gonna find us up there… or when Evie slipped in the creek and bust her knee open, I'd never seen so much blood before… she still has a scar… I wanted everything,” those last three words made the quiet, chipper tone in his voice break, “I wanted everything just as bad as her, I wanted a father, I wanted a home, I wanted him to be proud of me, but I was so, so angry…”

“Jacob...” George interrupted him quietly. Got up to walk over and possibly shut him up.

But Jacob sat up and shook his head while he did so. “No, let me say this – I wanted all of that and I was angry, because he left us alone and to me, the fact that Evie could just move on from that cause she had what she wanted now was equivalent to her not caring at all and I couldn't wrap my head around it, and that just made me even angrier...” He paused to breath, drawing his legs closer.

An opportunity which George took to say. “I can see how that didn't work out for the three of you.”

There was no possible reply Jacob had for it so he just sighed, trying to pull out as much frustration as he could along with the breath that came from his lungs. “The first time I held Julia I had three primary emotions and those were joy because I got to hold my baby, disappointment because holding her made me realise just how small and helpless Evie and me where when father left us and it just put into perspective for me how incredibly unfair the whole situation was… and then it was pure unrelenting rage because I wanted to go back to Crawley dig up his corpse and beat him to a bloody pulp and of course I didn't do that, but that just made me more bitter about it.” There was another pause. “I've been trying really hard, really, really hard not to be angry with Jack, despite _everything_ … and I guess… I never gave father a chance either, just like Jack didn't give me a chance, or I guess I failed him in the same way I was failed...”

Before he could continue speaking George had grabbed his face and kissed him. “Shut up,” he told Jacob quietly.

Perplexed because it was somehow the last thing he had expected when George had neared him on his bed Jacob did exactly that. No words were spoken, but Jacob could read no rebuke on George's face, just the same sadness from before. He leaned against one of his hands, wanting to close his eyes but not wanting to break eye contact either.

“It's not your fault what has become of Jack, and neither are Ethan's mistakes and I'm sorry I never realised how much it hurt you, that we let your sister cast such a shadow over you, that wasn't fair and if Ethan were here I'd rip him a new one.”

Smiling Jacob lowered his gaze. “I'm flattered but he'd bloody kill you for fucking me,” Jacob chirped amused. Thoughtlessly he pressed a little kiss onto George's mouth that was hanging slightly open from the realisation that was dawning on him. Just as thoughtless Jacob brought his hands up to place them on George's arms and run them back down to his hands. “Tell me more about mum...” Jacob asked, a lot more hopeful than he wanted to admit that he was about the prospect of hearing about his mother. His grip on George's arms tightened to keep him from leaving, but he let go when George sat down next to him with a quiet sigh.

Shrugging he asked, “what do you wanna know?” The question had undoubtedly brought a happy little smile onto his face that reminded Jacob of the way Anima looked when she got see Evie after being separated for the whole day, of the way Maxwell's face had lit up whenever he'd seen him. The look of someone who was in love. The realisation hit Jacob like a rock fall, unable to do anything other than watch it unfold and bury him.

“I dunno,” Jacob sighed, comfortably slouching against him. “Anything really, it's not like anyone ever talked about her.”

George hummed into the quiet. “She was a great assassin and a great woman, and it's unfair that you never got to meet her, I like to think she would have been a good mother to you both, but that's always before I remember that Eth wasn't a challenge...”

“You don't think he did a good job, whatever gave you the idea?” Jacob mused, first frowning then with a little grin on his face.

“Oh, he wasn't all bad alright,” George snorted, “I just don't think he should have tried doing it all on his own… Lily was the instructor of the two of them, the one with the plans and schemes… and Ethan loved her, she was his whole world and it collapsed when she died and he didn't allow anyone to help him pick up the pieces, but Lily had an eye for how things worked and how to make them work or manipulate them to her advantage, I could spar with Ethan all I wanted, but she was the one who taught me how to be an assassin.” From the corner of his eye, George watched Jacob pick on the bandages on his fingers. The way that he swatted at them to make him stop was almost casual. Jacob only made a low dissatisfied sound in his throat. “Yeah, no, quit that, it's supposed to heal.” Jacob merely repeated the sound and George scowled. After a moment of doing that, however, he decided to hold Jacob's hand instead.

“Your mother loved him just the same,” George quietly admitted. “They had a bond to be envied…” He couldn't help the sigh. “Her death carries so many useless what ifs.”

Jacob had stopped picking at the bandages on his fingers and started playing with George's hand to busy himself. But now he looked up and studied the side of his face with curiously wondering.

“She loved cawl, just like you… Nora cried in the kitchen when you said it was your favourite of her dishes, I just thought it was cute and you were completely oblivious stuffing your face.”

A low whine escaped Jacob's throat. “Don't be mean, don't make me hungry.” Still the thought brought a happy little smile to his face because of the happy memories.

There was comfortable silence between them and Jacob could feel the weariness in his bones starting to take the toll as he made himself more comfortable and closed his eyes.

“You weren't tired two minutes ago,” George noted but ran his hand along Jacob's arm anyway.

For a moment only quiet breathing answered him as if either Jacob had fallen asleep or needed a moment to think about his words. “I don't like sleeping alone...” Jacob muttered into his beard. “Just keep talking.”

George hummed quietly in response. Kept running his hand along Jacob's arm only to stop short where his fingertips touched his palm. With a little smile, he noticed how Jacob visibly relaxed at his side and kept muttering how he should continue to talk. “Just sleep already, I'll be here when you wake up.” There was none of the usual exasperation in his voice, but Jacob was too tired to say anything about it. Instead, he curled up at George side and fell asleep.

The sound of rain woke him. It wasn't quite morning yet and George hadn't moved from his side, but Jacob was too tired to do any more than blink at the grey sky peeking out between the curtains. Feeling drowsy just for watching it. George's thumb was drawing idle circles on the side of his head where his hand was resting. Jacob closed his eyes again feeling oddly comfortable. He wanted to speak. Say one of the many things that were on his mind but all that he managed was to bury his face and George's side and fall back asleep.

The next time he woke up it was because Julia kept tugging at his shirt. Tired Jacob blinked at her, blindly grabbing for the space where George had been and finding nothing but a cold mattress. “What's up shortcake?” He sighed as he sat up. Blinking some more he realised she was holding Maxwell's hand who now that Jacob had noticed him made attempts to climb into his lap. Although his sister evidently had other plans.

“George said we can't go out 'less you say so,” she huffed quietly. Then added, “I'm bored… Max is too.”

Jacob only had to open his arms every so slightly for both kids to crawl into his lap. Julia leaned against him, her arms wrapped protectively around Maxwell who just let it all happen. He was an oddly patient child Jacob had come to find out in the short while that he had been with them. Not at all like his namesake.

“Don't worry uncle George made breakfast,” Julia said after another while. She had slumped down leaning her cheek against Maxwell's head. “I dreamt of Jack...” She said at last. It was a quiet, scared whisper that had her closing her eyes as if to fight off a demon that was only in her head.

Rubbing her back while he gathered his own thoughts Jacob balled up pillow and blanket between his back and the wall. He stretched out his legs, feeling lazy, feeling comfortable, trying to remember the last time he'd felt like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob's real good at nicknaming his kids isn't he.
> 
> Preview for the 27th:  
> »Jacob was starting to feel nauseous why did everything involving Jack always have to do with so much blood.«


	15. Scar Tissue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where Jacob accidentally hits the bull's eye when it comes to George and Ethan and doesn't even realise it. Good thing that George is a little more willing to talk about his feelings overall. We're not quite done with Jack yet, but like almost I think. More blood in this one.

_London, March 1868_

The Alhambra's stage was a miraculous place when you couldn't see the props piling left and right. It had everything needed to outfit a complete house. Everything to mimic real life if need be and anything that wasn't in use as of now was shoved aside. Climbing around the prop piles reminded him of crawling around the abandoned factories as a child. Seeking hiding places among the machines and furniture collecting dust now. He'd always come home with dirt and dust all over him, knees and arms scraped and the occasional scratch on the face. He liked to explore and find things just as much as Evie did, but he liked it much more in practice than in theory, which was the defining factor here.

He liked that about Maxwell's flat too. There was always something to find, something to explore, something to alleviate his boredom. It was a curious place that he didn't know exactly how he had ended up in the first time, but Jacob welcomed it for feeling comfortably far away from everything that happened outside its front door.

He'd been tired. Jacob remembered that much. He remembered arguing with Evie and leaving her and himself frustrated and disappointed. It was raining outside, the sound was almost enough to lull him back to sleep and not ask any questions about how he'd even gotten into this situation with Maxwell.

Maxwell was sitting at the other end of the couch and going through newspapers. Crossing out things and marking others. Jacob wondered why, but his eyes were stuck on the scar. The Scar.

It was an oddly intriguing injury. It had the looks of burnt skin, but the cuts hadn't been caused by that and then there was the reddish triangle shaped something that looked like a bullet had grazed his face before disappearing into the sky above. “How'd you get it?” Jacob asked. Voice raspy and tired. “That,” he asked reaching out to gently poke the scarred side of Maxwell's face. He would have liked to run his hand over it, feel the crevice under his palm and trail it with his fingers, but that would be an awfully awkward thing to do so he only grasped at air when he retrieved his hand to place it on his knee instead.

Something flickered over Maxwell's face so quick and so brief that Jacob's tired mind couldn't possibly place it.

“C'mon tell me, that must've been one hell of a fight,” Jacob bugged him, trying to tease the answer out of him. But when Maxwell seemed to be amused by his expression Jacob didn't know what to make of that.

Thoughtfully Maxwell ran his thumb along the bottom of the cut. “What do you think happened?” It was an absent-minded question. One where the answer was already set, but unspoken and unknown.

“Someone reminded you, you were mortal.” A tired grin spread across Jacob's face, but his eyes glimmered.

Maxwell Roth bled red like everyone else.

A quiet sigh escaped his throat when Maxwell instead of answering hummed quietly, still looking oddly amused as he placed his hand on Jacob's, running his thumb across the back of his palm. A small, comforting gesture that shouldn't have been enough to lull Jacob back into sleep but it was.

 

_London, August 1878_

Jacob wasn't good at simply sitting down and thinking things through, he'd never been and he never would be. But every so often he came across things that required exactly that. And George was one of them. But just because it meant it had to be done didn't mean that Jacob wasn't taking his time with it. Perhaps more time than he should have. 

The thoughts were there sporadically, during his fights when he felt the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his knuckles and all the time when he put Julia and Max to bed. The latter being an oddly soothing ritual despite the fact that neither kid ever actually wanted to go to bed.

He knew it had to be addressed, he just didn't know how and Jacob thought it was oddly funny that it should start in a former gang hideout of the Rooks. Former because Jack had made a flimsy attempt at playing at revolution and Jacob had taken George along to put him and whatever allies he had gathered back into place. What Jack had wanted had been a gang fight, but Jacob hadn't been willing to give him that.

“Are you _sure_ that's necessary?” George questioned, looking around what had once been a hideout of the Blighters and previously belonged to the Rooks before Jack had taken this small fraction of them from him.

Rubbing his arm Jacob nodded although he wasn't sure at all, but maybe he could trick his brain into believing it anyway if only he acted like it. “It's Jack,” he said as if that answered everything. In some ways it did.

Jack wouldn't go searching every nook and cranny of his territory, especially not if the police came to clean up the aftermath of the fight, but Jacob hoped that he was able to buy himself some time because it was late and they had dragged most of the bodies from the streets into the houses. Jack wouldn't be able to walk ten steps without running into a corpse at this rate.

“What if this backfires?” George insisted.

Jacob ground his teeth fighting down the anger that wasn't really anger, just misplaced hurt and frustration. “Of course it's going to backfire, it's _Jack_ , I'm _counting_ on this to backfire, like it always does with him, but if I can draw him out maybe, just maybe I can prevent him from forcing me to slaughter my _whole_ gang, can't I?” Jacob snapped back, more bitter than he wanted to be. The look on his face was tired. “I don't know what else to do...” The confession came quietly after a long while of silence.

Surprised, his first instinct was to fight back, even though there was no reason to when George stepped closer and kissed him. Instead, Jacob clawed at his coat and bit his lip, feeling soothed at the taste of blood in his mouth and the hand with which George had grabbed the back of his neck. Signalling no intention of letting go.

Softly George's fingers carded through his hair at the back of his neck when Jacob made a sound in the back of his throat that signalled helpless frustration more than anything. No words came out, but Jacob managed to ease the grip on George's coat and take a deep breath once their kiss broke.

“It's _not_ your fault, Jacob, look at me, it's _not_.” There was almost something helpless about the way he said it, but that seemed ridiculous considering how sure of himself George always seemed to be in every other situation.

Defiant like a child Jacob pressed his mouth together and stared at his boots that he could barely see because it was almost night and the house wasn't lit in any way.

“Let's go home…” George added, quietly and the tone of his voice made it so oddly compelling that Jacob couldn't do anything but follow. He had made it sound like a promise that everything would be all right once they got home. Like it had been once when he had been four and home had actually felt like home.

George had been quiet all the way back home, while Jacob had been quietly mulling over the uncomfortable feeling coiled inside of him, glad that he didn't have to think about where he was going. Because he wouldn't have been able to trust his feet to end up where he intended to go and not somewhere entirely else. But now he really did end up at home and not at the Alhambra or Maxwell's flat and with a cup of tea in his hands. He wasn't going to complain about that, but the ache in his chest would have preferred alcohol and too much of it.

“You're not allowed to drink yourself into stupor,” George remarked as he sat down with him and scrutinised Jacob's face.

Unwillingly Jacob snorted. “What're you trying to parent me?”

“Do I have to?” George merely replied, silencing Jacob as he had to think about that question before shaking his head at last. “Good,” he added and seemed lost in his thoughts as well all the same. “Your heart is allowed to bleed.” He said it once the silence had comfortably settled between them. “Whatever it is that makes you think you're not allowed to mourn your loss, to hell with that, you're allowed to be angry at your father, you're allowed to envy your sister, you're allowed to mourn and hate Roth for all that he's put you through at the same time, I am not going to judge you for that, Evie is not going to judge you for that, or she better not and–”

“I shouldn't, should I?” His voice was quivering just as much as his mouth. His grip on the cup had turned his knuckles white. “I was stupid and I got hurt and it was obvious to everyone including me that this would happen and he doesn't deserve it–” Never had and never would. But that didn't stop the hurt. Or the way his eyes were stinging.

“So what?” George retorted, watching the stunned expression on Jacob's face. “You're hurt and that hurt needs to go somewhere before it eats you up the same way you let your wrath for Ethan eat you up, and while I'm happy to stay here – _with you_ , I won't stand by idly and watch you hurt yourself like that.” Not after all these years of watching over you, his expression seemed to say.

For some reason, Jacob could only think of putting the tea down because he felt like he was about to cry into his cup, and he couldn't have that but having tucked his legs onto the couch there was no way of doing that without significant effort that Jacob had no energy for. In a brief moment of panic, he set the cup down onto the floor right next to the armrest, sitting it down too hard and spilling a bit of its contents. Frustrated with himself Jacob could feel the tears running down his face without any further prompt. His hand burnt where the hot liquid had spilt on it, but he didn't pay the pain any mind. Trying to dry his eyes instead. Trying and failing. It was like someone had opened a valve.

He didn't know what he cried for. It wasn't exhaustion. It wasn't for himself or Maxwell or his father or Evie. He didn't want to cry for any of them, but he couldn't stop it so he had to sit and let the tears fall. Allow the exhaustion of it wash away his frustration. And there was George, running a hand through his hair. Making him think of the dog and the apple orchard and how hard he had tried not to cry, but ultimately he had been too exhausted to hold the tears back once they had been back on solid and safe ground. Perhaps George right now was his solid and safe ground too.

“Better?” George asked quietly, allowing Jacob to lean against his hand.

He shook his head, then nodded and shrugged. “I don't know,” Jacob breathed, feeling nothing in particular at all. “You're right it's not me…” Jacob managed after a while of silence, pulling himself into an upright sitting position and grabbing his cup off the ground. It was still comfortably warm but had cooled down enough to drink. It made him feel better instantly for no other reason than that it was tea. “It's all Maxwell,” a small weary smile displayed on his lips. “And it's...” Jacob sighed. “It's got nothing to do with that I had a hard time letting go, that I missed him… miss him, he never used his concern about my well-being to belittle me, he made me want to do things the right way, does that make sense?”

“Are you telling me, that Maxwell Roth managed what Ethan and your sister have failed to accomplish within twenty years in what… a couple weeks?” Amused disbelief displayed on his face, but Jacob's smile stayed as tired as he was before. But George's expression was a kind one.

Still he lowered his gaze watching reflections on the surface of his tea for a few moments. “Maybe… all I know is that when it came to rebuilding London, I kept thinking of his words, all the things that he told me and I realised that it helped, I learnt more in those six weeks with him than in a decade of lessons I know that much now… what are you smiling about?”

Sighing George settled against the backrest of the couch, forcing Jacob to change his position if he didn't want to crane his neck back to look at him. “Because Ethan ruined your excitement for being an assassin, I understand that better now, I wish I had back then, but I'm just glad you were able to regain a little of that, you talked my ear off do you remember that? You and Evie...”

“No...” Jacob admitted, sounding a little disappointed. “Aren't you angry with me?” The question came quietly, almost tentative but entirely unprompted.

“What for?” George replied and Jacob shrugged not knowing where to go from there. He had been sure enough that George would have known the reason. “I was never trying to walk in Eth's footsteps, even if it may have looked like it to you–”

“Then why didn't you want us going to London?” Jacob interrupted, slowly drinking his tea as he watched George shove his jaw around. The warmth of the liquid soothed him, made him almost drowsy. George grumbled something unintelligible. “What was that?” All that Jacob had been able to make out had been his father's name.

This time it was George who sighed in frustration. “I may have taken my frustrations with Ethan out on the wrong subjects,” he grumbled. “I didn't want to stay in Crawley, I didn't want the mill, I didn't want any of what happened and I wanted everyone to know I was bloody pissed… at him, at the whole situation, your grandmother was the only one who didn't expect me to jump for joy when Ethan was gone.” It was plainly written on his face that George knew he had been wrong, but that he thought that there was little to do about it in the end.

“ _Really_ ,” Jacob replied, “I could have sworn you were a scorned lover.” A peculiar emotion that Jacob thought he knew how to place all too well washed over George's face as he sighed and muttered to himself something which sounded an awful lot like “if only.” Jacob only stared, thinking that he wasn't ready to ask the question that he should have in that moment. “You keep mentioning that… that you wanted to leave.” It wasn't phrased like a question at all, although it had hundreds behind its words.

Crawley without George would have never been the same. Crawley without George was hard to imagine for Jacob.

George laughed, amused at how baffled Jacob was about his statement. “Is that really that much of a surprise to you?” He paused. “I guess so...” He then added quietly. “Did Ethan ever tell you how we met?” When Jacob shook his head George snorted, muttering, “figures”, to himself and walked around the couch to sit with Jacob. “It's really kind of boring, I was ambushed by some lowlifes and they chased away the robbers, we talked while they escorted me back, well Lily talked and Eth was making sheep's eyes at her cause he was so blindly, foolishly in love with her… and I don't mean that in a bad way, it was just so obvious that even the blind could see it...”

“Are you _sure_ we're thinking of the same man.”

“Oh, dead _sure_ ,” George replied dryly but seemingly amused. “Lily was his everything, his whole world and when it collapsed he didn't know what to do, but that's not what this is about, they rescued me and they offered me a place in the Brotherhood–”

“And you just said yes? You didn't question them?” Jacob couldn't imagine George just taking an offer without scrutinising it first. Evie had learnt that from him he supposed. He wondered what he might have learnt from George too.

To his surprise, George laughed. “I hated the mill, and the old miller and my job, I was ready to fight those robbers tooth and nail with no training whatsoever it would have been a suicide mission if your parents hadn't shown up, and they offered me an opportunity to take agency, an opportunity to get out, of course, I took that… the only reason I took that bloody place over...” Scratching his neck George averted his eyes, deliberately pause his speech which had dissolved into a grumble. “That was _you and Evie_ ,” he admitted at last. Sincerely and quietly.

Old frustrations slipped into the cracks of all things left unspoken when George continued under Jacob's watchful eyes. Making comparisons to Evie awfully easy in that moment. “All I wanted, was to leave that bloody place behind, Lily knew that, Eth knew that, Lily was trying to help me get out,” he couldn't help the smile. “But Lily died and Eth left, and what do I care you're not my children, I tried so hard to convince myself that I should just go, I'd get over it, figure out what the bloody hell my life was going to be like someplace far away from everything, but you were all that I had left of the two people that I loved and I realised… I realised I couldn't let that go...” He shook his head and helplessly shrugged. “Nora was the one who convinced the council to take over the mill, she was also the one who said she'd convince me to stay, but I think she knew that it wasn't necessary, it was all a big ruse to make it easier for me.”

If he weren't sitting already Jacob would have proclaimed he needed to sit down, and if there weren't tea already tightly clasped in his hands he would have asked for it now. He wanted to lie down. That was the only thought he could form. His body wanted to get up and get into bed and just sleep because that the only way Jacob thought he could process this right now. But he wasn't sure how to voice even that in the first place. "I'm gonna need time to process that," Jacob managed, staring numbly into his half-empty cup. _That._ That little confession in between all the rest he'd said as if it didn't weigh as much as it did in light of their relationship. _That._ That little confession spoken so honestly, now marking the end of their conversation.

If there ever had been a line for Jacob this would have been it.

George had found him slouched at his desk, one foot balancing out the weight of the chair while little Maxwell – he had taken to calling him that, although Jacob knew that Max wouldn't stay little forever – was sleeping on his chest. His chubby little toddler hands were still grasping Swinebourne's badge that Jacob had let him play with. He'd been rocking the chair back and forth to lull Maxwell to sleep and now kept it tilted backwards not even a hand's width above the ground.

“Reminiscing?” He asked, snapping Jacob out of his thoughts. “Or just thoughtless?” Restless. The word was hanging in the air, but instead of pointing out the obvious George was watching him instead.

“ _We need to match him_ ,” Jacob sighed after trying to figure out how to word his thoughts. “That's what Evie said when we first came to London, _we need to match Starrick_ , I thought I knew what she meant, but,” Jacob pressed his lips together, staring out the window across his desk, “I didn't really understand her words till I met Maxwell… I knew that we needed to match his forces, I didn't understand that that alone wasn't enough, that I had to disassemble the structure from the core.” He almost laughed now, but the only thing that came out was a crisp huff. “I mean, I understood that too, I just didn't see it when she said it, Maxwell helped me see it.”

George's face scrunched up in thoughtful confusion. “How do you mean?” His words were asking for clarification, while Jacob could feel him pointedly set the chair back on its four legs with him in it. Muttering something about “don't do that while holding a child.” Instead of letting go however George gripped the back of the chair tighter and stared him down. “How?” He asked again, seeming genuinely curious.

Jacob snorted. “I may not be the best at planning ahead, but I'm not stupid George, I know when to take a step back, I knew...” It was the first time anyone had ever asked him to voice his thoughts in a long time and for a moment Jacob found himself groping for words. “Freddy warned me, not to cause a scandal at the Bank of England,” Jacob said at last. “Maxwell would have told me not to kill Twopenny just yet, he would have seen the necessity of it, same way as I did, but he would have told me to walk him out the front door because if his corpse is found, the people, they'll just see guards not doing their job, they'll just see how their money isn't safe, they'll wonder… can anyone just walk in there? He would have told me to secure the printing plates too because he would have known the Blighters would be out for them.”

A quiet hum made Jacob turn his head. Only to see that the frown on George's face had changed to form a kind, genuine smile. He seemed almost a little amused although Jacob couldn't say with what.

“What?” Jacob grumbled. Frowning because he couldn't tell why George looked so happy with himself. But George waved it off. “What,” Jacob insisted. An almost tired sigh on his lips.

“Nothing,” George insisted. Jacob decided to drop the subject.

There was an elephant in the room that neither of them wanted to address when Jacob got up to put Maxwell to bed. He didn't want to, but he didn't want to have the upcoming conversation with a child in his arms either. Jacob ran his hand through Maxwell's dark unruly hair, crouching at the side of his bed. Wondering why George hadn't followed him.

Trudging back to his study Jacob didn't know what to do with his hands now that they weren't holing Maxwell anymore, wringing them he finally put them in his pockets. Part of him wanted to ball them into fists, but the other half knew better. Leaning against the doorway Jacob cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something first?” He couldn't help running his boot along his calf. George nodded, Jacob took a breath. “Why?” He let the question sit for a while. “Why did you let me have my way?” It was a question that had come and gone from his mind, but he had never found the right moment to ask.

Staring down at the chair George remained quiet for a moment. His thumbs were moving along the width of the backrest, as if in thought. “Because… you appeared to be convinced that it would make you feel better, and I should have known better, I really should have… I did...” His voice had grown more and more quiet, while Jacob watched trying to channel his sister's unnerving, unblinking stare. George heaved out a breath. “I didn't know how to handle your desperation any better, that's really all there was to it, I didn't want you to get any more hurt than you already were… and then I figured if you get to pretend it's only fair if it goes both ways,” George muttered into the beard he didn't have. But it was Jacob with red tinted cheeks when George turned his head to frown at him. “Why me anyway?”

With folded arms Jacob shrugged. He had lowered his gaze, leaning a little more against the wooden frame. “I had a hard time convincing myself that you weren't a suitable substitute for Maxwell… which just sounds silly now, you're not, you never were...” His eyes wandered. “Father would have been furious, and all the hurt seemed justified.”

“Was it worth it?” George asked quietly.

“I was breaking a hand to stop a headache, metaphorically speaking,” Jacob replied dryly.

Something pained crossed George's face as he pressed his lips together. “I wanted you to feel better and you were adamant that that was the only way it would happen.”

Jacob laughed joylessly in response to that. There was no denying that George was right. If George hadn't let him have his way with him… Jacob tried to answer the question what he would have done instead, but he didn't know. Perhaps he would have just gone to sleep. Perhaps he would have left and gotten into a fight, come back in the morning with bruised knuckles and a bloody mouth. Perhaps he would have spilt his heart. “Fine...” Jacob said at last. George had answered his question in honesty and it hadn't even been a particularly bad answer. If anything he appreciated the sentiment.

“It wasn't…” George started, but stopped and sighed. “I guess it was like that a little, not at first, but you were adamant, and I never really… and for a while you were his spitting image, you didn't want this to amount to anything between us, so I figured it was fine, a safe way to deal with the love I didn't know what to do with for so many years.” The words didn't come easy and George swallowed once he had said them, averting his eyes and folding his arms almost defensively. As if expecting Jacob to ridicule him for his emotions. George wasn't at fault for what he felt or had been feeling. Something which Jacob had learnt the hard way in the aftermath of Maxwell's passing. That didn't make it any easier though. To think that George had been in love with his father. And mother according to his earlier confession, was something Jacob hadn't expected to come out of this. “Aren't you going to say something?” George asked, sounding uncertain.

Blinking Jacob gathered himself, slowly prying himself off of the wooden door frame. “I don't know what to,” he admitted. “I don't know what to think.” He made a motion half throwing up his arms, half shrugging. It would have been easier if Jacob had had reason to fault him, but ridiculously enough they were in their own way in the same boat. Realising that Jacob sneered. “So I was just that, a substitute for what you couldn't have… makes me think we deserve each other.” In any other moment his statement might have made either of them laugh, but now it only bittered the mood. “Did you really love them?” He asked it with the wonder and confusion a child would possess about these things, utterly ignorant to the evils of the world. Simply seeking understanding and confirmation.

There was a moment of quiet where George stood and raised himself up, straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Yes, Jacob, I did… and it's still somewhere inside of me, like a candle that was never snuffed out, when Lily died, it felt like someone had stripped away a part of me, I don't know what I would have done if Eth had stayed, but he didn't and I never told him, and Nora never asked any questions, and when he returned I was so furious with him I thought I had to burst, I was just getting over… and he didn't let me by showing up in my life again, and I'm sorry if you somehow got caught in the crossfire of that, I was petty and wrathful because I still felt the same, despite how long he'd been gone.”

“How do you feel now?” Jacob asked, unprompted. Interrupting him. “About me?” He wanted to ask but couldn't.

“I...” George visibly faltered. Looking distressed he ran a hand through his hair. It was a dark grey, looking black when the light was dim. Growing it out had made him look kinder. Jacob liked it. A little more than he wanted to give it thought at the moment however. “I'd say I'm over it, over them, it's not like I got much of a choice, both are dead, neither of them is ever going to know, this,” he gestured at the space in between them, “is the closest I'll ever get to dealing with it.”

Awkwardly Jacob scratched the side of his neck. Uncomfortable and confused about the way he could relate to his words so well. “I felt the same when Maxwell died,” he admitted, stepping a little closer, however, being uncertain what to do exactly now that he had, “like there was no one I could talk to, took me years to actually tell Evie… I still thought she'd just yell at me for being stupid enough to put any sort of trust in him…” Casually Jacob let his eyes wander along George's figure. As if he meant to consider him. As if he hadn't ever. As if to make sure nothing had changed within the last minutes. “Is that why you never talked about her?” Jacob couldn't help the little frown as he said those words.

“Yeah, quite frankly I was terrified it'd be written all over my face,” George admitted as matter-of-factly as he could but there was a little awkward laugh on his lips anyway. He paused again. “Think we can somehow pick up the pieces and figure out how to move on from here?” The way his words resembled Evie's was absolutely charming.

“I'd love nothing more,” Jacob admitted quietly. Smiling just a little. “You know I meant it, when I said I wanted you here, I was scared, I still am...” He paused pressing his lips together and shaking his head. “I dread the day he comes after Julia, I'd never forgive myself…”

“I know,” George replied softly.

 

_London, October 1878_

There were no Blighters left, only Templars and their red-clad goons. It was only habit that made Jacob refer to them as such. There were enough of them to keep the Rooks busy, yet Jacob knew that their task as London's friendly neighbourhood guard would only keep them busy for so long. Sooner or later the balance would shift, but when that time would come there would be no gang fights. The Rooks would be the last of their kind whether they liked it or not. The flood was coming for them.

Starrick's successor had proven to be a real pain the arse over the years. Despite that, there had been no reason to kill him. If anything a live Grand Master had been helping him in working out the kinks in his network. With the help of Lewis it had been relatively easy to monitor their influence. Maxwell had once pointed him in the right direction three times in a row, and based of that Jacob had started hiding his assassins all over London. In every borough, every industry, every branch of society. And then when the Templars came and they had to retreat in fear of being found out; Lydia's girls never ceased to be chatty. It helped maintain a steady stream of information. It certainly relieved Clara's children of their duty as spies, although she had quite recently remarked that some still enjoyed doing so. In amidst all her children she seemed right in her element. Quite content with just that and being only an assassin in name. While Jacob appreciated that she was willing to look after Julia and Maxwell when he or George and even Lewis were busy.

It had been one of Jack's many meagre attempts to overthrow his gang. Each time anew made his stomach turn and Jacob could swear Jack was gaining more supporters too, but his groups were small enough to make it hard to tell.

Fights had always left him a daze. A high that numbed all pain and left him positively dizzy. So it took a moment for him to find his foothold in reality again. It wasn't out of entitlement that Jacob didn't want most others to handle Jack's tantrums. It wasn't because he felt responsible either, not entirely he told himself as he looked around.

Being assassins they were used to death and killing, but this Jacob knew was just useless, senseless slaughter. Jack didn't care if he won or not. Jack only cared to hurt him. Still feeling the rush of battle euphoria hammer through his veins Jacob scanned the building. He'd agreed that George would go after Jack to find out where he was hiding, while he dealt with the Rooks that had forfeited their name. He had hoped that they hadn't gone far, but instinct was already tugging him towards an uncertain point in the distance.

When he found him Jack was gone because of course, he was. Jack had always been good at vanishing into thin air. Much to Jacob's demise. But he couldn't think about that now when he saw George slump against a wall, half his face covered in blood. More blood on his clothes. Jacob was starting to feel nauseous why did everything involving Jack always have to do with so much blood. The taste of copper lingered in his mouth as he rushed over to check his pulse.

George's unbloodied eye blinked open and he lowered the blade that he had almost rammed into Jacob's throat. Sighing a breath of relief and exhaustion. A muffled sound of surprise escaped his throat when Jacob kissed him, but he had no fight left and nothing to complain about except a lack of air. For a moment the blood and anxiety were forgotten when he grabbed Jacob by the hair on his neck and pulled him in.

“Don't scare me like that...” Jacob breathed. Allowing himself to kiss him again, slower and softer than the previous one. “You can't scare me like that.” He leaned his forehead against George's, careful not to hurt him and breathed a heavy sigh. Feeling… glad and more that he hadn't lost him.

A quiet chuckle answered him. “Little bastard got me real good, figured I'd wait for you to find me while I hope the bleeding stops,” George muttered. Voice strained from the pain. “Head hurts,” he muttered, still disgruntled when Jacob helped him up. Allowing George to lean against him while he found his balance. “Face hurts, talking hurts, can't bloody see through all the fuckin' blood.”

“Then don't talk,” Jacob answered quietly. His hands and forehead were stained with blood from where he had touched his face, but he hardly noticed. All that mattered was that George still had a beating heart.

Jacob remembered sitting next to Maxwell on the carriage after beating the gang leader replacements to a pulp, wondering if George felt much the same like he had back then the way he leaned against his shoulder. Jacob let him.

Like she had when she was little Julia rushed to the door when she heard him coming up the stairs. But instead of her usual happy greeting, she jumped back and stared at George. “What happened?!”

“Jack did,” Jacob replied wondering how he could say it so nonchalantly when he felt all but that. All the while George raised his hand and muttered an exhausted greeting. “Don't worry he'll be fine, you'll see without the blood it won't look half as bad.” He tried to assure her, running a hand over her head in passing as he dragged George towards his bed to make him sit down. Immediately George returned to the slumped down position Jacob had found him in. Even now that he knew it would be fine his insides tightened at the sight.

He had no intention of giving Julia any more nightmares about Jack, but keeping her in the dark had never been of any use and he wouldn't start now. He would make time for her later. Make sure she was okay. Knew that she would crawl into his bed tonight anyway to feel safer. Like she had so often since Jack had killed Nitya. Some nights he had come home to find her curled up in George's arms while he worked. Some other nights it was both of them and George didn't even seem to mind to have two children cuddled up to him sleeping soundly. Or perhaps that was the reason he didn't mind. Because they were sound asleep and not causing trouble in any way. Whatever his reason, the sight warmed Jacob's heart despite the cause of it.

More casually than he felt Jacob ushered Julia away and tasked with her watching over Maxwell so he wouldn't wander in while he had to stitch up George's face. It was the most prominent wound Jacob could see, so it was the first he took care off. Silently he cleaned it, as he watched Julia and Maxwell play from the corner of his eye. George winced at each touch of the water soaked cloth. Thoughtlessly Jacob slid his fingers into his hair where his face wasn't covered in blood. Quietly Jacob hummed, now that he could see cut more clearly it didn't look so bad. “Handsome as ever,” Jacob reassured him with a little smile, while George did his best to hold still.

George merely snorted, trying to relax while Jacob rinsed out the cloth and poured alcohol on it. “Yeah right,” George muttered, rubbing the good side of his face. “Flummery – cheap flattery.” Jacob didn't let him get any further because he pressed the alcohol-drenched cloth to his face, making George wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying quite hard not yelp in pain. Making up for it in breathless curses.

“I always thought the scar was handsome,” Jacob mumbled into what was left of his beard. He was trying not to look at George, but the flush on his cheeks was oh so telling. Clearing his throat he added, “I bet it's gonna suit you real fine...”, while he continued dabbing at his face, “I always wondered how he got it, he never told me.”

A low hum answered him and Jacob let that stand while he finished up cleaning his wound so he could stitch it together. The scar ran a line all the way from his chin, up over his cheek and to his forehead where it curved towards his temple. Thankfully Jack hadn't gotten the better of his eye and now that Jacob had cleaned the blood off George was able to look at him again.

It took Jacob a long moment of just staring till he remembered that George was slowly stripping off his coat and shirt to let him have a proper look at the other wounds Jack had dealt him. Most of them weren't deep enough to require stitches, George had been lucky enough in that aspect there was only a single cut at his side that required more than a bandage. They had sunken into comfortable silence by the time Jacob was done and allowed George to sink down and rest.

It looked like George was about to say something just about the moment when Julia barged in, dragging Maxwell by the hand. “Is he better now? Are you better now uncle George?” She asked, tugging Maxwell closer to the bed. Her little brother just looked at them with big eyes while Julia worried.

George laughed quietly. “Much better now that I got to see you”, he replied, reaching out to pat her head. “Don't worry so much,” he tipped her chin up and Julia returned the smile he showed. “I'll be in fine fettle before you know it.”

“Will you?” Julia asked, scrutinising George with a look that reminded too much of Jacob. While George ruffled Maxwell's hair and tickled him. “Are you really staying? You're not going back to Crawley?” She frowned again.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. “I won't,” George assured her. “Not for a long time if I can help it.” A little smile tugged at his mouth.

“Will you be staying with us?” Julia added.

And while George's gaze flicked up at Jacob for a second, there was a moment of awkward silence. “Well, if your father lets me, I should think so… however, you are always welcome to visit me, regardless of where I stay.”

It was then that Jacob gently nudged her out of the room so George could sleep, while Julia added that she was hungry and Jacob promised to fix her something. She remarked how she liked having George around. She also remarked how she kind of liked Maxwell. Despite the fact that he was two and she couldn't play all that many games with him. Julia was rambling on about her lessons, the book she was reading, while she entertained Maxwell with one of the pirate ships from the Kenway mansion and Jacob listened, half a smile on his face.

She didn't talk about Jack or what had happened, but the nightmares spoke for themselves. But she had asked questions about Nitya's death, more understanding of its finality than Jacob would have expected. And if Julia chose to change her mind he would be there, he had assured her of that, while he had been attempting to make life go on with the help of George.

Most nights she still crawled into his bed still and Jacob couldn't quite describe the feeling of hugging his daughter curled up next to George but it was an incredibly good one. Despite the circumstance, for it blossom a small sliver of hope in his heart. He couldn't claim that Nitya's death hadn't rattled him, but while he missed her Jacob found it much easier to move on from her death than from Maxwells. But perhaps he was simply too preoccupied with worrying about Julia's well-being than to focus on the hurt it had caused. Or perhaps since Maxwell he had simply gotten used to the constant thrum of pain from his consciousness.

By the time that Jacob returned, George seemed to have fallen asleep and Jacob would have left him if it weren't for the fact that his eyes blinked open and he stared up at him.

“I thought you were asleep,” Jacob stated the obvious. Taking a seat across from George on the chair he'd occupied while he had stitched up his wounds. “Don't tell me you can't sleep… you sleep half the day, shouldn't be surprised you're awake all night, should I?”

George smirked, tired. Half-hooded eyes watched Jacob. His face hurt where the cut was healing so it was a rather lopsided smile. “Why'd you kiss me?” He asked, watching as Jacob averted his eyes. “First thing you did was kiss me.”

“I don't know...” Jacob's speech halted, he looked down, shoving his jaw around as he searched for words.

“You don't?” George questioned, a little more curious than Jacob liked. A quiet laugh escaped his lips before he grimaced with pain. Almost casually George waved if off. “What would you want from an old man like me anyway.”

It wasn't a question, just a statement Jacob realised. Still, his lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, I could think of a thing or two…” He huffed, glancing up at the ceiling. “Maxwell would be almost your age now... I think..." It was no more than an estimated guess.

“Do you miss him?” George asked quietly.

Jacob swallowed, eyes still averted. The answer was glaringly obvious. Of course he missed Maxwell, the wound hadn't closed despite a decade having gone by. The way he missed Nitya sometimes paled in comparison. Ultimately Jacob hummed a tired little huff, sounding more sad than anything else. “Is it always going to hurt?”

“It is always going to be a part of who you are,” George replied, reaching out to place hand on Jacob's knee, “like it's always going to be a part of me, but you don't have to let it swallow you, Jacob, you're allowed to love, you're allowed to move on.” Sighing Jacob lowered his head. He nodded, slowly moving his fingers towards George's to interlink them. “Jacob… do you even know what you want?”

Swallowing Jacob pressed thumb and forefinger against the corners of his eyes, rubbing the spaces quietly as if trying to think. “I wanted...” There were too many things that he had wanted and needed, but instead of saying anything they just closed up his throat trying to squeeze through all at the same time.

“No, what do you want _now_ ,” George repeated softly, his fingers idly tapping onto the back of Jacob's hand. As if to remind him of the here and now.

“I want you to be okay,” Jacob admitted. Looking at him he felt lost like few times before in his life. “I don't know how to do this… _any_ of this.” He could have almost laughed, feeling reminded of an otherwise long forgotten situation. “I really don't, I didn't… have to when I was with Maxwell,” Jacob sucked in a breath and sighed, “figures that it comes back to bite me now,” he muttered. “I want you to stay,” he said after a moment of pause. “With me, for good...” He was sure of that when he thought of Julia and Maxwell curled up between them when they couldn't sleep alone at night. The picture didn't seem complete without George there too. Didn't feel quite the same without him either. Although Jacob wasn't sure how to name what he felt. Or if he wanted to name it.

George's eyes closed and he could see the slightest hint of a nod, while the lopsided smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth. Jacob mirrored it just barely. “I think I'd like that,” George replied. Letting go of Jacob's hand he heaved himself up. “C'mere brat”, he said with half a grin.

Laughing quietly Jacob followed the offer, sighing comfortably when George wrapped his arms around him. “You're sleeping alone tonight if you keep that up,” Jacob remarked dry-witted. Carefully his fingers brushed over the healing scar, unable to tear his eyes from it as he did so. “Would it be so bad if I told you I loved you?”

“Not if that's the truth,” George replied quietly, while something flickered across his face. Something not quite doubtful, but worried. Jacob watched it come and go, uncertain what to think of it, but willing not to think at all when George moved his palms across his back and he sank against him and into the touch, feeling five and twenty-one all over again. Feeling at ease. Feeling safe and soothed.

“And if I told you that it was?” Jacob answered. Feeling a quiet calm take hold of him.

George hummed in response, leaning the good, uninjured side of his face against Jacob's head. “Well, then I would have to tell you, that I love you… simple as that.”

And Jacob didn't know what to reply to that, he couldn't even come up with something to tease him about so he closed his eyes and allowed things to be. It was nice knowing that George seemed to have already made up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for the 3rd:  
> »“I know,” Valérie repeated and straightened her shoulders with a sigh.«


	16. Loose Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I really want to say about this chapter is that I'd like everyone to remember that Maxwell is dead and he doesn't get a fucking say in any of this. There's nothing else I wanna add. Oh hey maybe I do, first bloodless chapter in a while!

_London, November 1878_

At four Jacob hadn't been able to imagine a world without his sister. Their world had revolved around them and it had been unquestionable for them to be ever separated. At twenty he had wished her gone. Since twenty-two, he had filled the gap she had left with Julia, but he hadn't felt like celebrating since his sister had left.

George raised his brows. First one then the other. “You mean you haven't been celebrating your birthday just because your sister isn't around?”

Pulling a face Jacob shrugged. “I don't feel like it, it's weird… without her...” He folded his arms. “It's more about indulging Julia at this point, cause she thinks it's important…” Again Jacob shrugged, seeming not the least bothered by his decision.

Still George frowned. “That doesn't sound… like you...”

Absent-mindedly Jacob scratched the back of his head. On rare occasions like today, he spent the day on the train that had once been their hideout. The rattle of the rails kept him calm. Calmer than he otherwise would be. “I miss her that's all,” Jacob said, leaning against the side of the seats. “It feels weird, it just does.” Like someone had carved an Evie-shaped hole into his life that he kept being painfully reminded of.

“I take it back, that does sound like you,” George smiled unprompted, stretching his legs out under the empty table. They were almost alone on the entire train except for Agnes and Nigel, because even the Rooks had stopped frequenting it in the last couple years. The scar was healing slowly but nicely and Jacob liked to run his fingers along the crevice it left. This time he didn't have to wonder how it had come to be, but that didn't make it any less interesting to him.

“Tell me something, Jacob,” George was tapping his fingers onto the table that was empty except for the papers and books they had stacked on it.

A wry smile appeared on Jacob's face. “I'll tell you anything…” His voice trailed off, watching Hiram enter the wagon they occupied. “What happened?” The words shot out before Jacob could even form a clear thought. If Hiram was here, where was Julia, where was Max? His vision blinked in and out of the blue in lapses of seconds. Long enough for him to register that they weren't here.

“Relax they're fine, both of 'em,” Hiram muttered around his cigarette, motioning Jacob to calm down. “They're with Lewis, maybe Clara, I asked him to check in with her, everything's fine, Jacob.”

Despite his words and the way Hiram was gently patting his shoulders, Jacob felt all but fine. The tone of his voice didn't really fit either. It was the emphasis that felt off. “Then why are you here?” He asked still confused and frustrated. And unhappy with Hiram's appearance and the absence of his children.

A heartbeat passed. Then two. Then three. Leaving Jacob a moment long enough to watch Hiram's face that looked unexpectedly sorry. His Lancelot, handsome as ever, unreachable as ever. A bitter taste lay on his tongue and guilt laced with lead coursed through his veins, but if Hiram noticed he didn't say. “It's my sister, is what it is.”

“Your sis– Val?!” As ungraceful as things had ended between them Jacob dropped all pretences. “Why?” He couldn't help the confusion. Couldn't help feeling defensive, while he frowned at Hiram.

But he merely shrugged. “Don't know, she only said she wanted to talk to you.” Once again his hands patted Jacob's shoulders. Once, twice, then he clasped them. “I told her I'd tell you… here I am, what's the message I'm supposed to deliver?” The smile around his cigarette asked to humour him for old times sake and Jacob couldn't really say no to that in the first place. Although any and all memories of Hiram were tainted especially bittersweet in George's presence considering it had been him… who had unwittingly broken it all apart. Not personally. He had merely been Jacob's instrument. Jacob could be that honest with himself.

Every fibre of his heart had been pulled taut for reasons Jacob couldn't say. Then a short flare of anger and nothing. He breathed, straightening his shoulders. “Fine… tell her...” He stopped. “Same place as always… she'll know.” Of course, he could have elaborated for either of their sakes, but Jacob didn't feel like laying his heart bare in front of the two men who meant so much to him for entirely different reasons. Nobody needed to know that he had raised Julia in Maxwell's flat.

Hiram raised a brow in response, mimicking curiosity but dropped the subject quickly when Jacob became grumpy and waved it off. “Well, I'm off, see you around.” He waved as he left the wagon. Shortly after Jacob could see him make his way along the tracks back to the nearest station.

George had been surprisingly quiet during their conversation, although Jacob could feel his eyes piercing him even now. “What was that all about?” There were more questions on his tongue. Jacob could see it as he turned around, but he couldn't focus on allowing him to ask them.

The wire around his chest was still squeezing his ribcage, and his thoughts faltered. “Her mother,” Jacob managed to breath out at last. “Hiram's sister is Julia's mother.” And he couldn't help the bitterness or the hurt or even the helplessness in his voice when he turned to George, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“I thought she was dead...” George replied with honest question in his eyes. He straightened himself, shifting to better face Jacob. In his defence, George had never asked and Jacob had never told him. Julia's mother had simply been absent. “Sit down.” He asked it so calmly and so sure that Jacob followed the directive without thinking much about it. “And now you're going to be very honest with me, Jacob, because I can't help you if you're not and I want to help you...” The sentence was left unfinished but he needed to say no more either way.

George's piercing eyes made Jacob focus his own on the papers in between them. The words didn't want to make sense, but he kept frowning at them anyway. It wasn't complicated, it was so much easier then he had ever expected it to be in retrospect. “All you need to know,” Jacob said, once he had gathered himself, “really need to know, is that her name is Valérie Ashdown, that she is Julia's mother, very much alive, married actually… and that when we met each other, it was just means to an end, she used me, I used her, the reasons do not matter now, they hardly mattered then, all that matters is that she didn't want anything to do with Julia for the last nine years and I need you to understand that I won't let her get away with the same shit father put Evie and me through, and I won't let her hurt Julia like that, not now…”

“You _have_ to tell her eventually...” George replied quietly, lighting a cigarette as he spoke instead of arguing him. There was no judgement in his voice, but his eyes watched Jacob carefully.

He had expected an argument. So now that he didn't get it he had to sit back and think for a moment, not to take the frustrations that weren't George's fault out on him. Although there really wasn't anybody who was at fault anymore. His father was long dead and no amount of yelling would bring him back to let him know how hurt he had been for too long.

“I know, I will… but I'd rather tell her when she's a little bit older, and a little bit better at judging the situation and making her own decisions, and maybe that's still the wrong way to do it, maybe she'll hate me for that, but I can't do this any other way George, I can't.” Jacob had curled his fingers into fists, crumpling the papers underneath with too much ease to feel satisfied with the destruction he was causing.

Julia reflected all that he had been, all that he never could have been and all that he was trying to be not to be, but there was a hurt attached to the latter that had been unaddressed for too long for him to reason it out in a single instance.

Silently George placed his open palms on the table. Whether or not he mimicked Evie's gesture on purpose or not Jacob couldn't say, but it helped ease his grasp on the papers and take the offered hands instead. His thumbs moved across George's callused palms. “You don't have to justify yourself to me,” George replied, wrapping his hands around Jacob's to keep them still. “I understand what you are trying to do, but I cannot tell you if it's the right thing to do… I can only tell you to be honest with your daughter like Ethan should have been honest with you.”

“He _was_ honest,” Jacob sneered. He rolled his eyes, yet couldn't help but frown at the kind expression on George's face. “What?”

“I'll be honest, I was worried you wouldn't return from India because there are days you have so much of Ethan in you it's hard to see past that, but I like to believe you're better than him.”

The statement was so profound that it stumped Jacob, as he blinked at him in frustrated confusion. Meaning to be glad for his honesty, but too upset about the comparison to his father. It still stung. Even after all these years. “Now, now, no need to get jealous, I think I like Jacob much better than Ethan,” George replied to that with a little twinkle in his eye.

Jacob snorted. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” He huffed and lazily kicked George under the table. But there was a smile on his lips again and the way George returned it made him sink back against the bench comfortably.

 

_London, March 1879_

Of course, it had to be March, Jacob thought. March was the month of all Maxwells. The one he had loved, the one he raised (because his birthday was in the midst of March) and the young man in Freddy's office who was so oblivious to his father's legacy that it hurt. So of course, of course, it had to be March when they met.

He looked like what Jacob had imagined Maxwell without his scar in the couple brief instances that he had wondered about it. But for all that he looked liked Maxwell, his face was too kind and his eyes too soft and confused. There was none of the spark, the determination, the joy and glee that Jacob had missed for so many years. Seeing him brought back memories Jacob had thought forgotten. Along with an emotion Jacob had thought extinguished but now it flickered full of hope inside the walls of his chest, but for once he found himself oddly glad that his ribs caged it. Back then he would have wanted Maxwell to know, he would have tried to pour it all out. Not in words. Words had never been his forte, but they hadn't been necessary either because for some reason Maxwell had understood all the hurt and want he had carried inside himself anyway.

It was almost funny, although Jacob couldn't bring himself to show more than a brief smile as he studied him. Sitting with the same casualty like this father, like he owned the world. Perhaps it came with the name. Perhaps it came with the blood in his veins. He had a bit of his father in him after all. Familiar green eyes scanned Jacob up and down, but they didn't hold the expected glimmer. “You're his spitting image, do you know that?” Jacob's mouth quirked amused.

Brows knitted together the younger Maxwell studied him. “I've been told so.”

With cool eyes, Jacob watched his expression for a long moment then turned to Freddy and shook his head. “Fortunately for you, you're just that,” he then addressed Maxwell. “Come, I think we should talk.” Patting him on the back Jacob escorted Maxwell outside, wondering where he should bring him. Deciding there was only one place they could go anyhow.

“His most prized possession,” Jacob quietly breathed extending his arm to motion towards the Alhambra. “A grand theatre ten years ago… not quite sure what it is now, I try to keep track of it, but I don't like being near it most of the time.” Despite the quizzical look, it got him Jacob didn't elaborate. “How old are you…?”

“Twenty-three.”

Jacob hummed wanting to seem amused, unable to help the bitter undertone. “I was a little younger than you now when I met him.” It was a weird thought, one that he had hardly ever thought about. The man next to him looked so young. And when he didn't spend too many thoughts on how the hell Maxwell had ended up with a child he wouldn't get a headache. Frowning Jacob sighed. “Why are you here?”

“To ask questions,” Maxwell answered matter-of-factly.

Something pulled on Jacob's heartstrings. Pulled hard and slow. As if to make sure he noticed. It was evident despite all their similarities in the way this Maxwell carried himself that he wasn't his Maxwell. But it was his Maxwell that made Jacob's chest tighten with every shallow breath.

“Then I should tell you, that you should leave London and never return, because you have no idea what power your face and name hold in this city, don't take this the wrong way but you're not like him, and the little bit that is is not enough to make it in this city, you shouldn't become like him… London couldn't ever survive a second Maxwell Roth.” Neither could he, Jacob thought, but he didn't voice that. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the Alhambra. Taking a deep breath Jacob added, “I will answer all your questions as best as I can, but afterwards I suggest you heed my advice and leave for your own good… of course, I cannot force you, but I don't think you will disagree.”

“What was he like?” It was question born out of agonisingly long-held curiosity. One that Jacob was more than familiar with. Painfully familiar with.

They weren't the same Jacob told himself, although every fibre of his body screamed to disagree. If there was a single chance he had to relive and revive his Maxwell this was it. And yet he couldn't. London wouldn't stand a chance and neither would his heart.

Quietly he sucked in a breath, folded his arms behind his back as he felt his lungs fill with ash, and fire rise in the back of his throat. The stench of burnt carpet and flesh filled his nose, making it hard to breathe and think. “Ruthless,” Jacob sighed. “Absolutely no regard for life, merciless, heartless, self-indulgent, cruel… people either worked for him or owed him money, but everyone feared him, he burnt his theatre down in a fit of anger and half the people inside with it, after killing two of them as part of the show on stage – that is the kind of man your father was.” When his eyes moved to meet Maxwell's his expression softened. “Take it as a compliment that I don't see that in you.”

“Sergeant Abberline said you worked together?”

Sighing Jacob pulled a face. “For a short while, yes, we had the same enemy and I was foolish enough to think…” Jacob paused. “Nevermind, he's dead now, nothing can be changed about that.” And there was no use in telling this particular Maxwell about his failed love affair. No use at all, still Jacob couldn't wonder what George might have offered for advice. All he wanted from here on out was to go home, knowing full well that he had to wait for their interaction to end. Else he would risk questions or being followed. But this time when he looked at Maxwell, all he really wanted was to see George and Julia and his own little Maxwell.

Maxwell was mulling about that for a while. Then he muttered to himself, “I guess that's why the Sergeant said I should talk to you.” 

The laugh came so abruptly Jacob was surprised himself but he couldn't help it, and so it was there helpless, joyless and full of hurt and despair. “No, he told you that because I was the one who killed him.” This time he couldn't keep it from the eyes and there was definitely something about his expression that made Maxwell slowly take a step aside to find some distance. “Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you, your father tried to blow up a bunch of children, he had it comin', you're safe.” Jacob snorted about the disbelief that he was met with. “I guess I wouldn't want to believe that about my mother either,” he muttered to himself. It was a poor comparison, but if anyone would have told him Cecily was less than a saint and a magnificent assassin it would have been hard to believe. Even after all these years.

Kicking at a small stone Jacob glanced at the man beside him. It felt surreal beyond measure to see this younger version of his Maxwell walking the streets of London with him. “Don't go inside,” he warned and would always wonder whether or not Maxwell had heeded his request or if the Alhambra had been visited by a ghost that day.

So Jacob let him go once they had made their lap around the Alhambra. Hoping to never see him again.

Daunting. That's how Jacob felt Maxwell's presence hanging over him by the time he got to come home and distract himself with Julia who had tried to sneak up on him and surprise him, and Jacob had let her. For he wasn't her teacher, not like his own father had been his teacher, and efforts should be rewarded. Although she had yet to learn a lot about stealth. What little Jacob had been trying to teach her growing up had in form of games that he now saw her playing with Maxwell. Much to his own delight.

To say that Evie and he hadn't ever been play fighting before they had been taught to fight was a straight up lie, but their antics had come closer to rough-housing after their first lessons. But Maxwell was still half a baby and Julia couldn't do much more than teach him to climb over and onto every piece of furniture they owned. Jacob was oddly glad they weren't closer in age, was glad that Julia wasn't close in age to Jack either. Else she would have surely gone after him.

“How's my favourite babysitter doing?” Jacob asked, when he found George, earning an eye roll in response. “C'mon I appreciate you lookin' after them.” Jacob smiled and leaned a little closer. As if it weren't because anyone other than George or Lewis looking after his children had him worried Jack would come for them. As if George wasn't aware of that. His eyes followed George's, out the window where Rooks seemed to patrol. “Not Jack's men,” he muttered quietly to soothe the obvious worry of the other. Still Jacob couldn't help the fact that his own eyes were glued to them as well.

“Something's off… they never patrol at all, but these two do...” George insisted just as quiet.

With a quiet sigh, Jacob clasped his shoulder and smiled. “It's fine for now, don't be such a pessimist.” From the corner of his eye, he watched him and then couldn't help himself from staring a little, considering him with more tension in his gut than he wanted George to know.

It was an odd little moment for him. He couldn’t help the laugh when George turned his head and kissed him.

“There you go,” George smirked. All too pleased with himself. “Feeling better now?”

Jacob laughed quietly and tilted his head, indicating it was a start. “You’re going to have to kiss me a lot more if that’s your desired outcome.” He barely got to finish his sentence this time.

The kiss that followed caught him a little off-guard so when it broke it took Jacob a moment to turn his attention back to the window. The Rooks were gone now and Jacob wondered what he should call them now that they were forfeiting their name, but George had his attention again before he could formulate another thought or tell him about his encounter with the other Maxwell.

There was an unexpected comfort in the fact that George was on all accounts a night owl and preferred to sleep during the day. Considering Jack was out there, waiting for him to drop his guard, Jacob felt a lot better knowing someone was keeping an eye out. Despite that, Jacob didn’t like to sleep alone so at any given chance he was likely to convince George to keep him company.

Jacob had waited till Julia and Maxwell were asleep and then some more and now he was growing tired, but he didn’t want to lie down. Even though George had very willingly sat down at his side, for Jacob to roll over and lean against him. Instead, he was sitting across from him now, legs drawn close and his arms wrapped around them as he leaned his head against his knees.

“I always wished he hadn’t,” Jacob said at last, a quiet breath on his lips. “Hadn’t tried to blow up those children, hadn’t taunted me to kill him, hadn’t made it so hard, hadn’t kissed me goodbye – and then I wish he had hesitated, had given me any ground of hope however small… and then I realise that he’s dead and that none of that matters because no matter how badly I want those things I’m not going to get any of it – Ever.” Jacob stretched his feet and straightened his back. “I just wanted to rewind time, get Maxwell back – _my_ Maxwell, get everything back to the way it was before and hope he wouldn’t do it again… a silly little thought, really, I mean what for? I missed feeling wanted, having a place in someone's life… having someone who wasn't so patronising at every turn, somehow I thought all of that was exclusively attached to Maxwell… which now sounds really stupid, but… I knew I could have all that if only I could have him… so if there had been any way, no matter how slim the chance… for once in my life, I didn't want to take a risk, but all I could think of this morning was the fastest way to get out of that situation...” Jacob shook his head, but despite that, a quiet little smile lingered on his lips.

It wasn't to say that his emotions hadn't been all over the place, but they had been far from stable than expected around the man who looked so much like Maxwell it felt like whiplash.

“I met his son today, his spitting image I swear I almost thought I saw a ghost and for a moment...” Jacob’s voice faltered for all the emotions that rose in his chest and wanted to escape all at once making it unable for him to speak. “He’s not like him, not enough… it hurt so much and yet, I realised I wanted to be here with Julia and Max and… you, way more than I could ever want a second chance with Maxwell, and when I realised that I just wanted to go home… and you know home was Maxwell’s flat for the longest time, but now it’s not.” Jacob smiled, happy and almost a little shy.

“I love you too.” George had stopped trying to make sense of the book in his hands and watched Jacob instead as he had spoken. He wasn't so sure why exactly that was the correct answer, but it was all that he had wanted to hear from him.

Grinning and with flushed ears Jacob leaned in and pressed a kiss on his mouth. “I know, I love you back.” He murmured against his lips and sank against George’s shoulder. Quiet sank comfortably over them. In the first years after Maxwell's death, Aleck had kept telling about doors and windows and missed opportunities and chance because of misguided focus. Not entirely unprompted but Jacob hadn't quite understood what he had been trying to say back then. He thought he did now. “I spent so much time focused on hating Maxwell for what he did because I didn’t want to live with killing someone who loved me, someone I loved… I didn’t stop to consider all that I gained because of him, all that I gained since then, cause that's a lot of good things... minus Jack.”

“And what are those good things?” George asked turning his head trying to look at Jacob. Who grinned and kissed his jaw before burying his face in George’s shoulder.

“You’re half of them,” Jacob muttered content. “The other half is Julia and Maxwell obviously,” Jacob added after a moment of silence. He couldn't count Evie although he wanted to, but she was in India. And she couldn't be if he wanted to count her.

March was also the month of Valérie and as Jacob trudged up the stairs to Maxwell’s flat, thinking that if Jack had gotten here first and he would only find a dead body lying in a pool of blood. And for a moment his heart stopped at the thought and he wanted to rush up the stairs just to be sure he got there first.

Nitya had left a hole in his life, more so in Julia’s but deaths were his business and they happened and he moved on because he had to. They weren’t supposed to be devastating like Maxwell’s. And Nitya’s had been that, but most of all a tragedy. She had died too young and too soon and under circumstances that shouldn’t have been and it was of her that Jacob thought when he entered the flat. Summoning a ghostly image of her as he stepped inside of it, one that was playing with Julia and her voice echoed in his ears as he closed the door behind him. A thin smile lingered on his lips. Whatever Maxwell would have thought of his home becoming a collection of ghosts for Jacob he couldn’t tell because before Jacob got to think about that he saw Valérie.

Weirdly enough she didn’t look much older than the last time he had seen her. Her eyes hadn’t lost their determined spark that meant she would get whatever she had set her mind too, or so he thought. And while Julia’s blonde hair had always reminded him of her, the way she stood in the hallway with her arms crossed made him painfully aware of how much they really had in common. And how Julia wouldn’t know for the longest time just how much she was just like her mother. Despite all that everyone said about her being like him.

“What do you want?” Jacob spat out. He couldn’t help feeling the same childish contempt now that he had held for his father. It mixed awkwardly with the reminder of how much he had adored her and in a way still did.

“Hello Jacob.” She smiled and he watched the dimples form on her face, giving her an oddly adorable look that Jacob knew she would use to her advantage if given the chance. “It’s been a long while, hasn’t it? How are you? How’s Julia?”

“What do you want?!” Jacob repeated between gritted teeth as he stepped closer. He hadn't come here for small talk and he wouldn't comply to her incessant chatter. “It’s been nine years and not a peep from you, what the hell do you want from her now.”

Something tragically sad, like when a fairytale princess would be tragically sad, flickered across Valérie’s face. “I want to see her.” That was all she said and no matter how much he had expected those exact words they still baffled Jacob for their lack of awareness.

“I’m sorry but that’s not good enough!” Jacob spat back, seething though he didn’t know what for. There were too many reasons at once, but he wouldn't grin and bear just for Valérie's sake. “Why do you want to see her?” Perhaps it was a little unfair to take this out on her, but if there was any place in the world for his anger Jacob knew that it was here.

Valérie didn’t say anything for quite some time and Jacob wondered if she was picking her words very carefully or assessing the situation. At last she heaved her shoulders up in a sigh. “We’re leaving for Delhi in a month and I would like to see my daughter before I lose the chance to do so, so please Jacob let me see her, just this one time.”

Nodding Jacob assessed her words. She wasn’t lying that much he could tell without so much as studying her face. “And why exactly should I do that, you’re asking me to let her see you just so you can disappear from her life for good, you gave up your right to that when you left her with me and didn’t show up until now.”

Pressing her lips together Valérie dug her fingers into the fabric of her sleeves as if fighting back the urge to argue. “She’s _my_ child too,” she hissed. “I could take her with me if I wanted to.”

“She was a tool in your scheme and when you didn’t have any more use for her you discarded her–”

“They forced me–”

“No, you don’t get to play that card, I know you always get what you want, you would have found a way if you had wanted to see her, you wouldn’t have been scared of the backlash, trust me I knew you that well if nothing else.”

“Well I’m here now doesn’t that count!” Valérie shot back. Thumping her heel to the ground as if to mark her point.

“It doesn’t get to count if all you intend to do is disappear!” Was that him speaking for his daughter, or his child-self letting out his anger about Ethan? Jacob could hardly separate the two of them in that moment and he had to take a moment to reconsider their situation. He wasn’t here to punish Valérie for what his own father had done, but to make the best for Julia out of it.

With a steady breath Valérie maintained her composure. Instead of replying she retrieved an envelope from beneath her coat and handed it to Jacob. “Fine, have it your way but give her this at least.”

Jacob weighed the sealed letter in his hands, then carefully pocketed it although he couldn’t say why. As he did he thought of his own father again, thought of what Valérie had just said and how he had promised himself he would do better. But just what would his father have done... Jacob thought and got stuck on that for a while before concluding that his father wouldn't have allowed it. He wouldn't even have come to meet her Jacob thought. “Alright..." Jacob said slowly, “you can see her, but just that, you don’t get to talk to her or ask her any questions because you’re coming with me now and she’ll be asleep so she won’t have to tell you goodbye just after meeting you.” A part of him just wanted to see her face when she saw her daughter, saw how much she had grown since the last time she'd seen her, saw how much she had missed and yet another thought of Julia and the fact that perhaps this was the only chance for her to meet Valérie in the first place, but that wasn't something Jacob felt capable of deciding on the spot so he wanted to take her with him just to buy himself time. But maybe it was his inner child a little too because the letter under his coat and the fact that she was here now had to count for something, right?

“Deal,” she said. It was spoken as if in a hurry. As if scared he would change his mind.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of stealing with her through the dead of the night of the city that softened his anger so that by the time they reached his flat Jacob felt melancholic rather than furious with her. One of her remarks had even coaxed a little laugh from his lips.

Of course it wasn’t necessary that he carried Julia for her to meet in the living room, but something about the action of cradling his daughter in his arms made him feel better about the whole situation. It made him feel like he could protect her from any potential hurt Valérie might cause with her presence alone, but also he just didn't want her in Julia's room. As he held her and stroked her arm Jacob watched Valérie’s expression that unexpectedly softened at the sight of Julia.

“She’s grown so much, is she well?” Val asked softly. Tentatively reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind Julia’s ear, but Jacob didn't let her so her arm retreated awkwardly.

Jacob nodded before he had thought the question nor his answer through. There was no reason to tell her about Jack and the hurt he'd caused their daughter. “And you? Did you get what you wanted?” The question had been on his mind for so many years that it surprised him how he hadn’t found a way to ask her any sooner.

“Largely,” Valérie smirked, her eyes still glued to Julia, “our little sunshine did a perfect job at ensuring I didn’t have to marry that obnoxious ponce, you should have seen his family, I’ve never met so much outrage in my life before, she really deserves a reward for that.”

Jacob glanced at Julia in his arms, instinctively hugging her closer as Valérie spoke. “What do they think you’ve done with her?” But he didn’t make her answer when Valérie suddenly turned quiet and her mouth formed a brittle, bitter line. “You don’t have to worry about her, you know that don’t you.”

“I know… that’s really not why I’m here...” She replied, but Jacob watched her draw her legs close on the couch and curl up. Like she had done so many times before on her short-lived visits when Julia had still been a baby before she had completely disappeared from their lives.

“I wish you would have been there, not for my sake but for hers, you missed so much...” Just like his own father had missed everything of the first six years of their lives.

“I know,” Valérie repeated and straightened her shoulders with a sigh. “I know, Jacob.”

Jacob decided that March would be his second least favourite month. The first being April with having to stomach the events of Maxwell dying and Evie leaving, but so much had happened in the Marches of his life that it was hard not to call it in second place.

George who had watched them from a safe distance didn’t ask questions when Valérie left and Jacob put his daughter back to bed, not even when Jacob came to bury his face in his shoulder.

 

_London, June 1879_

Jacob remembered the first time he had told her the story like it had been yesterday. He remembered the heat that wouldn’t let them sleep and how casually Julia had accepted his words. Like they were no more than one of the fairy tales Maxwell had read to him.

He couldn’t remember how many times he had told her. Too many times. More than his heart had often been able to bear, although Jacob had always found it cathartic to be able to attach a nicer ending to their story and lately he found he didn’t mind telling it at all. Although he had tried not to have George around when he told it.

Julia was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed. In her hands she held a pair of toy soldiers. For one she had tried making an assassin hood and the other had been a makeshift blighter coat. It wasn’t so much an actual coat it was a piece of fabric from a blighter coat that she had draped over the soldier's little shoulders. “Tell it from the beginning,” she asked smiling while she let the toy soldiers wander along her legs.

Quietly Jacob hummed as he watched her sitting on the side of her bed. “There once was a city, not much unlike this one and it was crawling with Blighters...” He smiled when Julia attempted to balance several more toy soldiers on her legs. “Everywhere you went in the city it was infested with men wearing red,” he continued as he helped her place the soldiers till the poor little assassin figure was surrounded by makeshift Blighters. “It was ruled by a cruel man, who thought himself the future of the city and its people, but the truth was that he didn’t care for either, anyone who spoke up against him disappeared sometimes even his own men...” Jacob picked up a couple soldiers and watched grinning as Julia made a third one join him. “The first two of his regime to fall for where a scientist, where’s the scientist?”

“Here!” Julia proclaimed proudly and retrieved a little soldier for whom she had made a small white-ish lab coat. “I also made one for the doctor.” She then told him and showed off another small soldier.

“But it’s not time for the doctor yet,” Jacob reminded her gently, placing that one aside. “The first two weren’t from the city and they were a scientist and a factory owner,” Julia now pointed him to one that she had clad in dark fabric that was supposed to mimic a suit. “And it’s into the pit with you!” Julia giggled when he dramatically made them join the discarded three soldiers. “There were actually two assassins in this story, did you know that?” She shook her head excitedly, of course, she didn’t. “Two assassins, but this story is about only one of them, the one that had ridding the city of its corruption in mind when the two of them arrived, and to do that...”

“She killed all the nasty gang leaders!” Julia chimed in, mimicking the dying noises of seven people and now it was Jacob that couldn’t help the laugh on his lips. He had never told her whether the assassin in his story was a man or a woman so he figured she was imaging herself performing his own heroic deeds.

“Exactly.” He smiled. “Seven gang leaders went down in the end, but it took only three of them to gain their leader's attention,” Jacob said and picked only three off the seven soldiers from her hands to add to their discarded pile. “The assassin also killed the doctor,” he added and Julia gleefully added another victim.

“Is it time for the lady in purple yet?” She asked, her eyes glanced up at his.

“Why not,” Jacob grinned and watched Julia add a soldier which she had clad in a makeshift purple gown. Once he had asked her if one of her dolls wouldn’t be a better placement, to which she had replied that it didn’t really matter after all it was a just a story and her toy soldiers made better bad guys. “And after killing three and almost half of the gang leaders the assassin received a letter...”

“Dear assassin,” Julia began, fiddling with her little blighter and assassin soldiers, “I see you killing my gang leaders, you’re doing fantastic, please come visit me, I reeeeaaallly wanna be your friend, best wishes, gang leader of the Blighters!” She grinned now, visibly proud of her accomplishment and Jacob couldn’t help the laugh that was stuck in his chest because she couldn’t have been closer to the truth. Maxwell’s letters had always been brimming with his love for him.

“ _Exactly like that_.” Jacob nodded and smoothed her hair back. “And the assassin said yes of course and they went on their merry way to sabotage a shipment of explosives so the cruel man who was ruling the city didn’t get to use them instead and from that moment on the gang leader of the Blighters wasn’t bored anymore and the assassin had found a place where they felt welcome, at home even…”

Tired Julia had sunken against his side, letting the toy soldiers topple over and fall into her lap and onto her bed. “And tomorrow I’ll tell you about their triple theft,” he promised quietly as he gathered the toy soldiers and put them aside to watch over her from her nightstand. “Papa… are you in love with uncle George?” Julia spoke as she stretched herself like a cat, still comfortably at his side. “Glen said that’s not right, but I don’t think Glen knows everything, I like that uncle George is staying with us, I think it’s nice, it’s not so lonely anymore...” Moving her head to look up at him Jacob stared back with furrowed brows.

“Love isn’t as easy as the people you’re growing up with will make it seem...” Now it was Julia’s turn to scowl and Jacob laughed quietly as he kissed her head. “Yes, I love him, a lot more than I thought I could and I’ll tell you what, you’re allowed to love whoever you want, all the cute girls and all the cute boys – no matter what this narrow-minded society will say.” Tired eyes blinked up at him from his lap while Jacob kept carding a hand through her hair and he thought Julia long asleep by the time she spoke again.

“What’s it like… being in love?”

“It can be one of the most wonderful things in the world, and one day you’ll find someone who’s going to love you just the way you need to be loved, someone who loves you for who you are even the parts that you think make you unlovable and that is going to feel even better...” Jacob said quietly as he watched her fall asleep and the little smile wouldn’t disappear from his face.

By the time he left her room, he found George standing in the hallway. He wasn’t even trying to hide that he had been eavesdropping and for a moment Jacob felt uncertain. But out of all the questions he could have asked the one that he picked was, “how long have you been telling her that story?”

Jacob shrugged. “Since she’s four...” He didn’t know where to go from there so he added. “She was begging me for a story, but that was all I could think of… I didn’t think it would catch on...”

“She’s going to find out one day,” George remarked so pointedly Jacob felt caught.

“I know… but she won’t just now and I’m tired...” Just not tired enough to sleep Jacob realised when George had made himself comfortable on the sofa. He had stretched himself out across the couch and George’s lap with one of the files over his head to shut out the light that was bothering him. When that didn’t help Jacob rolled onto his side and buried his face in George’s shirt. A half-smile tugged at his mouth when George immediately ran a hand through his hair. “Do you still miss them?”

Them. Cecily and Ethan. His mother and father. The thought was still weird, but they were both dead and George was all his, so Jacob had decided to make his peace with it.

“Sometimes… just not like I used to… it’s just there sometimes in the back of my head, and then I do, but I figure you miss Maxwell in a similar way and I makes me feel like…”

“The languish passed?”

“Yes...” George snorted as if the notion seemed silly to him. But it was true nonetheless. “Ethan wanted you two to go to London… he told me that, shortly before he died, and if he hadn’t I’m sure he would have told you, I thought it was too risky, you were just about to have your blooding and London was a Templar stronghold… didn’t strike me as the best idea at that point.”

“You wouldn’t have ever thought it a good idea,” Jacob muttered into his shirt. Not sure what to think about this revelation. Not sure what to think about anything at that moment. Ten years back he would have been angry with him, he knew that for sure, but right now he was tired. Too tired to think clearly with all the emotions that welled up.

“I’m glad that you went.” George continued when Jacob didn’t speak. “Because you’re right, on both accounts – I wouldn’t have approved of the idea in any form or manner, but London needed you, you did the right thing, to your best ability, you did more than anyone could have asked of you… I always wonder if they had taken me with them if Lily hadn’t died… or if I hadn’t even been in Crawley anymore...” His head was comfortably nestled against Jacob’s. “How does that story end Jacob...” _The one you told Julia._ For some reason George didn’t have to say that for him to know.

“In fire,” Jacob replied quietly and without thinking. Suddenly feeling not as brave anymore as when he had talked to Julia. “Lots of fire.” The flames still danced with ease in front of his eyes, although their memory had become easier to bear over the years.

 

_London, September 1879_

Jacob figured that a cold autumn day was the only fitting scenery for the situation he found himself in. Which was stuck indoors with two children tired of boredom because there was nowhere they could go, tired of stories both read and told, tired of any and all of their toys and anything that didn’t allow them to run through the rain and jumping into puddles.

Which was to say that Julia was tired and Maxwell had decided to join her by being moody and whiny and overall unsatisfied with anything and everything.

“No,” Jacob sighed. Trying to avoid looking at Julia, who had skilfully mastered the art of puppy-dog-eyes. He wasn’t going to let the cute look on her face sway him. “Listen,” Jacob added, “you’re just gonna get sick if I let you play outside and the last thing I need right now is two sick children, so – no.”

Grumpy Julia puffed up her cheeks and made a dissatisfied sound. “Just for a little while, you won’t even have to watch us, Lewis can come with us, can’t he?” She pleaded.

“That is not going to protect you from getting a cold,” Jacob snorted, more amused than he wanted to admit. His eyes glanced towards Lewis, who really wasn’t here to babysit either of his children, but that didn’t seem to matter to his daughter. Frustrated she finally trudged off to join Maxwell and the pirate ship models once again. Jacob’s glance lingered on her then shifted over to Lewis.

He had asked him over on the matter of an investigation Freddy had asked him to look into. Frankly speaking as odd as Lewis appeared to him, he was also the most inconspicuous man he knew and that was exactly what he was looking for. Lewis hadn’t agreed, but he also hadn’t disagreed. He hadn’t grown much more talkative since Jacob had first met him, but there was something oddly charming about his interactions with Julia and little Maxwell.

Amused he watched as Lewis eyed George who had passed out on the couch some hours ago. Julia had insisted on putting a blanket over him, but that didn’t seem to make the sight of him any less weird for Lewis. Like a cat presented with a new object that it didn’t know whether or not it liked it yet.

“I met his son… he looks just like him, well without the...” Jacob gestured to the right of his face, watching and laughing as Lewis looked dumbfound at him as well. “Freddy picked that idiot off of the street and had someone bring me over, was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had…” Jacob paused. “Did you know?” Amused Jacob watched the expression on his face, he had felt the same way Lewis looked right now.

“No,” Lewis replied, but it wouldn’t have been necessary the answer was written clear as day all over his face. “It never seemed like him.” To have a family. Or children at all. Quietly Jacob agreed.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Jacob asked. Too sudden and abruptly the conversation between them came to a halt with just five words. “Why did you let me do it?” There wasn’t any accusation in his words, just remnants of despair. “You loved him, at some point you did, wasn’t there any left of that to stop me...”

Lewis heaved a sigh from his ribcage, heaving his shoulders with it. “I never wanted to watch him die...” An emotion stronger than his solemn mask wavered through the words. “When he wrote you that letter, the first one, I asked him what made him so sure that you wouldn’t kill him the moment he let you inside.”

“What did he say?” Jacob asked, feeling queasy.

An amused smile curled around Lewis’s lips. “That he always wanted to die by the hand of a handsome, young man and you should surprise him…”

There was a pause. Long enough for Jacob to realise what might be coming next, but short enough for him to freeze in inaction. He didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

“His anger didn’t diminish what he felt for you, not in the least.” _He still loved you._

Jacob would have liked to say something. Anything that would allow him to shake off everything old and new that he felt that came bubbling up at those words. “I know,” Jacob muttered at last. His voice shaking with every last syllable. “I felt the same for way too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm.
> 
> Preview for the 10th:  
> »“De-fe-nes-tra-tion,” Maxwell repeated slowly once, then twice and some times more till he managed to get a hang of it.«


	17. Of Mothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know this was the point where I was like "this is either going to take me 16 more chapters or 5 and I have no idea which it is" so that chapter 23 is the end was also a surprise for me, but here we are now. This is also kind of the point where I started forgetting that George is getting old and I should probably consider how I wanna deal with that, but I'll get back to all that when it gets important again. Clara is almost 24. Anyone remember John Hammond? Yeah? No? Well, either you're already laughing or groaning or Jacob's gonna remind you of how the missions went in this chapter.
> 
> Oh and sadness. Much sadness at the end of this one. Check the tags!

_London, January 1880_

Clara was smart as a whip and tough as a nail, but on the very few instances that she did get sick, it always got the worst of her. Jacob didn’t look back fondly on the days he had to nurse her back to health, keeping watch while she slept through fever and strain, unable to speak or think or eat more than what little he managed to feed her in her waking moments.

So even a simple cold wasn’t to be taken lightly. She had keeled over practically on what once had been Henry’s doorstep. She still called it Henry’s place despite his absence. And now Jacob found himself watching over her while he had dispatched an assassin to check on Babylon Alley and then deliver the news as well as Clara’s whereabouts. She wasn’t the only one capable of keeping the Alley in check and it would certainly survive till she was better again. Jacob knew it had seen worse.

In her feverish sleep, she muttered about the children in her care and Babylon Alley, like she always did. All the while Jacob brushed the hair out of her face and replaced the cloth on her forehead. She would never truly be his child, in the way that Maxwell was his child, but he couldn’t help the worry from creeping up his spine and nestling in the back of his neck when he saw her like this. Vulnerable and helpless for once, when she was otherwise all but that. There was nothing she needed protection from, nothing he could protect her from anyway.

“Jack,” she muttered with a breath and Jacob quietly shushed. Of course, she had to be worried that Jack got to her children in her absence, but there was nothing she could do right now and nothing Jacob could do that he hadn’t already done. So he softly shushed again and stayed by her side to watch over her.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Jacob was able to process was that it was dark outside and Clara was awake and staring at him. Exhausted as she was she hadn’t tried to get up. She didn’t argue when Jacob insisted on bringing her something to drink. Only when he came back with two cups of tea did she bother to sit up and curled herself around the cup as if meaning to soak up the warmth with her whole body. “Thank you,” she muttered into the quiet.

“How are you feeling?” Jacob asked and watched her shrug. She was all but a child and still, Jacob couldn't help but to worry about her like one when she got sick.

Clara’s eyes closed and she seemed closer to falling asleep again than anything, so it surprised Jacob when she spoke up. “Are we alone?”

Jacob raised a brow but did her the favour of scanning the building. “Alone enough, everyone’s asleep and the gangs outside won’t hear us.”

As much as it strained her Clara nodded. “Can you tell me something?” She asked now. “Why did you work with Maxwell Roth?” Her eyes were focused on the liquid in the cup she held, as she was breathing in its warmth. There was no judgement in her voice just matter-of-factly curiosity.

She was the last of all people Jacob wanted to talk to about Maxwell, she had been just a child when everything had happened and for all that he had considered it had had no true bearing on her. Not even the factory incident, though even though he had once told her “another time” when she had asked about it, Jacob had ultimately decided to keep her out of the picture.

Clara snorted, or at least she tried to and what came out sounded more like a huff. “Why is he such a sensitive topic for you? I’m not a child anymore, you know that better than anyone, don’t treat me like one.”

“What makes you so sure I worked with him?”

“Aside from the fact that you admitted it to me while you were training me, some of the children in my care saw you together roaming the streets and then there is the fact that I have heard rumours you rescued a bunch of kids from a factory fire in ‘68 and from what I’ve been told by them Roth was also there.”

Unwittingly Jacob pulled a grimace in the dark, trying to make himself a little more comfortable as he sat down next to her on her makeshift bed. “You’re right, I worked with Maxwell, I did so because he was eager to betray Starrick, but ultimately Maxwell was Maxwell and I had to kill him.” The words didn’t come easy and Jacob wondered if they ever would. “But that’s long over and I don’t think you should worry about it.”

“You named your adopted son Maxwell,” Clara instead pointed out dryly. As if she knew there was more to the story than he told her. And while she was right Jacob had no intention of burdening her with the knowledge of his heartbreak in the spring when he had been twenty.

Jacob laughed instead. “Sure, I thought the city could use some more positive associations with the name.” It was half the truth anyway and good enough to convince her that it was all there was to it. A smile lingered on his lips when she thudded against him and Jacob hummed a quiet melody.

She would never be his child, like Maxwell was, but that only made the few moments like this that she would occasionally grant him all the more special.

“Jacob...” Clara muttered into the quiet long after it had settled over them. She hadn’t fallen asleep, although her only sign of wakefulness had been that she had been drinking her tea. “Thank you… for everything.”

 

_London, April 1880_

Lydia had been just the right choice when Jacob had put her in charge, she was about bossy and unafraid enough to never back down when something needed to get done. So in many aspects Jacob had been able to consider himself lucky that she had agreed to work with him. There were others like her, but it was always Lydia who showed leniency towards him. But it wasn’t like her to just come over and chat.

“Yes, you’re a delight to be around, what are you doing here?” Jacob questioned when she walked past him, and seated herself at the kitchen table.

A dry smirk lined Lydia’s face when she lit her cigarette and crossed her legs as her eyes followed him. “You’re lucky I don’t make you pay for this delight.”

Jacob grimaced playfully, but decided to join her. “You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her, folding his arms on the table.

Closing her eyes Lydia straightened her shoulders and took another drag from the cigarette before she answered. “I was wondering if you were willing to train me…” Her eyes bored holes into his. “Me and a few other girls who I haven’t asked yet.”

“Well, figure out how many women we’re talking about and I can figure out if I can make the time for it.” He would most likely have to hand them off to someone else half the time anyway.

Lydia frowned at him, as if surprised that it didn’t take any more than her asking him to before she realised why he kept staring at her. “You’ll need a replacement for me,” she sighed with a nod.

“Exactly, I’m more than willing to train you but as long as one of the others isn’t willing to step up and take your place it comes with the stipulation that you’ll have to stay where you are right now – if that’s fine with you, we can proceed, if not, you’ll have to think about who you want as your replacement.”

“Can’t I be both?” She questioned, pulling her mouth to the side. There was nothing saying that she couldn't, but Jacob knew it would turn out to be rather impractical in the long run.

“What you can be is a trained assassin and a brothel owner, or a full-time assassin and quit,” Jacob replied matter of factly. And they would have continued their conversation if it weren’t for the loud thud which came from the living room and the stifled cry of a child that had Jacob up and gone from his chair within a manner of a second.

Maxwell had been trying to climb the bookshelf. He was slowly and successfully teaching himself to read in everybody’s absence, but even if it weren’t for that he liked to sit with a big book on his lap and turn the pages. Running his fingers along the lines on the pages as if they would divulge their secrets to his touch.

“I wanted that book,” he whined now that Jacob came to pick him off the floor and inspect the scraped and bruises he’d gotten himself with the fall of the shelf.

Nothing seemed to be broken Jacob came to realise and with that relaxed. “Which one?” Jacob asked as he lifted him onto his arms. Disregarding that Max now bled on his clothes. Knowing full well that Maxwell would have a much easier time sitting still and letting him tend to his wounds if he gave him his prize. There was a scratch on the back his hand that bled profusely, making it look worse than it was when Jacob finally got to sit him down in an armchair and tend to it. All the while Maxwell held the book like a prized possession on his lap. The scratch on his leg wasn’t half as bad and barely bled, but a bruise was already forming.

He had sniffed and winced when Jacob had cleaned the wounds, but he had held still. Clutching the book on his lap and now that everything had been bandaged curling himself around him.

“C’mere little mobsman,” Jacob said as he gathered Maxwell back into his arms. Initially intending to bring him into the kitchen where he had left Lydia behind, only to find her standing in the doorway. So instead he decided to sit on the couch and soothe Maxwell some more, who really seemed to have everything he needed with the book in his lap. It was a small paperback, a play Jacob presumed by all the scribbles _his_ Maxwell had left on the margins. They distracted him for a moment with a faint feeling of nostalgia settling in his chest, with a little sigh Jacob buried his nose in Maxwell's hair and watched him.

Maxwell thumbed unperturbed through the pages while Lydia stared. She attempted a smile as she casually walked over and sat across from them in the armchair which Maxwell had just moments ago occupied. “And who are you?” She asked, attempting to make light conversation.

“Maxwell,” he muttered without looking up. Jacob couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he watched Maxwell search the page he had decided on with his finger. “Def–“ He tried his finger suddenly stopped. “Defren– defen...”

Lydia watched him with a little frown, ultimately looking up at Jacob with an ocean of question in her eyes. But because Maxwell was present and Jacob wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know he could only lift his head and nod to confirm her suspicion. Which only prompted Lydia to stare a little more.

“Defen-estration!” Maxwell proclaimed into the quiet. Looking more than pleased with himself. His eyes gleamed. One hazel. One a warm, dark brown. Their pupils odd.

Now it was Jacob who took his little hand and ran Maxwell’s finger along the word again. “De-fenestration.” His moved with each spoken syllable to make it as easy as possible to follow for his son.

“De-fe-nes-tra-tion,” Maxwell repeated slowly once, then twice and some times more till he managed to get a hang of it. “What does defenestration that mean?” He asked and looked up at Jacob.

“It means being thrown out of a window,” Jacob smirked and watched him giggle over it. Then he returned to thumbing through the book again to find a new word to learn to read.

Lydia had leaned back and crossed her feet at the ankles, seeming oddly pleased with what she saw. It had become less awkward to introduce Julia to other people over the years, so he was relatively comfortable when it came to Maxwell, but that didn't make him any less cautious after what had happened with Maxwell Roth and the mark he had left on the city. “I never took you for a father,” she remarked.

“Oh, you’re in for a surprise,” Jacob replied with a quiet laugh. “I do have another one of these,” he said, grinning and pointing at Maxwell on his lap – meaning children. “He has an older sister, Julia… probably wreaking havoc with Clara’s children right now...” Ten was far from being too old for causing mayhem. If anything it was the prime of a little girl for doing exactly that. Evie had been just the same at her age.

An unprompted smile graced Lydia’s lips. “I will think about what you said, I’ll tell you when I and my girls made our decisions.”

Jacob left Maxwell on the couch as he brought Lydia to the door. “How is he?” She asked quietly as they were out of earshot.

“Quiet,” Jacob smiled, not meaning to alarm her. “He loves books as you can see, I don’t know who he’s got that from, he’s a clever child, he’s been teaching himself how to read… and I mean I did want to help him, but he’s been adamant on teaching himself… he’s a wonderful child.” It was hard not to enjoy the fact that Maxwell rather curled up in a corner with his books than being out and about like Julia, although Jacob had no complaints about the latter either. That being said, it never stopped Julia from roping her little brother into her shenanigans.

“I thought you had given him away...” Lydia shook her head and so did Jacob. He'd known from the moment he had first held him that he hadn't wanted to. Only Julia would have been able to change his mind if she hadn't warmed up to him.

“Listen, if you want to come by and see him, that’s alright with me, he should have people in his life who knew his mother, but no lies, just… make it child-friendly, and I’m sure Julia wouldn’t mind having another woman in her life...” With Evie gone from his, he had nowhere to turn to now that she was growing older. Clara was rather young still and she had Babylon Alley to take care of as well, so it wasn’t like Jacob could ask her.

“I will think on it,” Lydia replied, halting in his doorway for a moment. “Thank you, Jacob, you’re a darling.”

Perhaps she saw how that one little word made his heart hurt. George didn’t have any pet names for him and quite frankly that would have been weird to begin with. But hearing her use it so casually reminded him in an odd way that he did miss Maxwell’s endearments.

Lydia had come back exactly three days later with a small group of women in tow ranging through all ages. The two youngest thirteen and sixteen, and the former Lydia assured him had only ever been waiting tables and making polite conversation. Although her eyes were aware that she had no means to properly convince him of that. Jacob would either believe it or not, and she wouldn't invest more energy into that than necessary.

Five was manageable, although Jacob knew he would have to rope in a few other assassins for this and split the work between them. Surely there was someone better equipped than him to explain their history to them and teach them stealth. Although Jacob liked to think that he had done a good job in both Jack’s and Clara’s case. But they had been children and he had been able to teach them on their own, a cluster of five women was a whole different story.

All the while they had talked Julia and Maxwell had been eavesdropping from the door frame. But while Maxwell looked intrigued, Julia’s face was sour and she was pouting all the way through it. Even when Jacob beckoned them closer so Lydia and the others could introduce themselves. This time she introduced herself as a friend of his late mother and while initially shy he seemed to warm up to her stories, scooting closer till he sat on the edge of the sofa so he wouldn’t miss a single word from her lips. It was endearing to watch.

But it was that exact moment that Julia chose to stomp off. Not as good at playing charade as her mother, or maybe just as impulsive as him. Jacob couldn’t say what it was, but instead of leaving her be he ruffled Maxwell’s hair to get his attention. “Hey little mobsman, do you think I can leave you alone with them for a moment?” When Maxwell shot a questioning glance up at him and asked why Jacob added. “I think I need to talk to your sister for a moment.” Quickly his eyes darted over to Lydia to check if that was also okay with her but now he received no objections from either of them. “Alright, I want you to come get me if this is getting too much, you can leave them anytime you want and go play, alright?”

“Yes,” Maxwell nodded happily and turned his attention back to Lydia as Jacob left and she started talking again.

Jacob found Julia in her room, curled up on her bed. Sulking and clutching the stuffed doll he’d bought her as a baby. “What’s wrong Julia?” He asked, carefully treading across the floor and quietly sitting down on the side of her bed.

A low grumpy sound answered him. And when Jacob inquired again she shot up and thumped her fist onto the bed. “Why aren’t you training me? You trained Clara, even Jack but not your own daughter, that’s unfair!”

Jacob couldn’t help the sigh or that he closed his eyes as he did so. That answer was easy, and the question expected. Right now there was no use in pointing out that he had taught her plenty of things, even how to fight to some extent because that wasn't what it was about. “My father was a schoolmaster," Jacob said quietly. “I know I'm not... but... I still worry, that I'll become just like him when it's you, I don't want you to feel like you're my student and not my daughter like you can't tell me what frustrates you, and I'm not the best teacher either, there are some things I'm good at but many others where I wish I would have had help with in retrospect with Clara and Jack, and I want you to become a good assassin, I want you have someone who can dedicate their time fully to teaching you, not somebody like me who's got so many other responsibilities and I worry because at the end of the day I want you to be just my daughter who can complain about her teachers and lessons."

“But what if you don’t treat me like one of your students outside of lessons,” Julia retorted in her child-like logic. She had a point of course, and of course, to her, it had to be more important that he was around to teach her than anything else. 

A brittle laugh escaped Jacob’s throat. He couldn't help it. “I guess I’ll always be scared to become just like him...” Honesty, Jacob figured was the best way to go.

Julia scrutinised him with furrowed brows. First with question, then with disbelief. “You’re never scared of anything.” She shook her head like it was utterly impossible, although she surely remembered that he was scared of Jack hurting her. But that was a different story. She didn't seem to be like his answer all that much, but she seemed to understand it for all that Jacob could tell.

“I’m scared of plenty of things,” Jacob replied quietly, half a smile on his lips. “But I’d fight them all just for you.”

To that his daughter had no answer, instead she hugged her legs close. “Can I ask you something else...”, she said and without waiting for his answer added, “what about my mother? You say she’s not dead, so she’s got to be somewhere, right? Why isn’t she here? Didn’t she love you? I know you’re not telling me something, but I’m not a baby anymore, I want to know.” She looked at him with eyes that were so much like his own and Jacob had to swallow the lump in his throat. 

Honesty. It was what George had recommended. It was also the only thing Jacob could think of to soothe any hurt not knowing might have caused already. Yet he didn't know where to begin and had to visible search for words for a moment.

“I’ll make you an offer, we talk about this once I put Maxwell to bed tonight...” But Julia only continued to sulk frustrated at his words. As if that would make the topic and talking about it any easier for him. “I promise this is not a cop-out, but as much as I like Lydia, I’m not comfortable with leaving Maxwell alone in the company of five unfortunate women.”

Now Julia merely rolled her eyes. “Fine I guess,” she said.

“We’re gonna have a proper grown-up talk tonight.” Jacob assured her and watched her trying to hide the smile on her face as he ruffled her hair and left to gather Maxwell.

Julia had been almost anxiously waiting for the day to end and their conversation, but Jacob could tell that her fluttering nerves rather came from excitement than anxiety. And she was, for the longest time until Jacob sat down with her. She had huddled herself into a large blanket, taking the seat that Lydia had taken earlier that day. Cross-legged Julia sat in the armchair and cradled a cup of tea in her hands because she wasn’t yet old enough for any type of alcohol, but a drink certainly was in order for the topic of the hour.

As much as George had attempted to calm his nerves Jacob felt anything but calm. He would have liked to sit closer to Julia, but she had chosen her seat and Jacob decided to leave it up to her whether or not she wanted to eventually sit next to him. So he sat across from her when she said, “you can just tell me,” with that little frown of hers.

Sighing quietly Jacob got up despite his previous thoughts and knelt down in front of her. “Before I tell you about your mother, I want you to know,” Jacob said placing his hands over hers around the cup. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t trade you in for the world, you hear me?” Julia nodded and Jacob smiled faintly. “I never knew how much I wanted you in my life until I had you and I you weren’t supposed to ever feel unloved or unwanted, I'm sorry I had to leave you alone so often to keep an eye on Jack, that wasn't fair, but it wasn't because I didn't want to be with you, but your mother just left you with me when you were just a baby and I don’t know how to tell you that and not make it sound like she didn’t want you… at all...”

“Well did she…?” Julia asked timidly. Looking so much smaller now than she actually was.

Despite how helpless and awful it felt all Jacob could do was shrug. “I wish I knew, I was too scared of the answer… you know your mother and I we weren’t in love, we just needed each other and that was all fine and good till she was pregnant and…” Jacob shook his head for a lack of words.

When he looked at her again his glance was met with a frown. “Why did she have me then… if she didn’t want me?” Her voice quivered like she didn’t want to cry the tears that were coming.

Jacob’s mouth formed a bitter line, but he squeezed her hands and cupped her face. “There was a man… she was supposed to marry him, but she was furious and didn’t want to… so she decided to have you, I don’t know all of the details but I’m guessing her father forced her to give you away after that… or she did that out of her own volition, I just know that she stopped visiting when you were still too little to remember and I haven’t… I’m sorry Julia, but she didn’t make an effort to see you for the past ten years and I didn’t want you to go looking for her only for her to disappoint you…” His breath shook when Jacob paused. “I didn't know how else to do this, nobody ever tells you how to do these things.”

Bitter Julia clutched her cup, mouth pressed together into an almost invisible line as there were tears streaming down her face. It was only then that she considered putting her cup down and Jacob aided her. The moment it was out of her hands Julia clawed them into her nightgown. “It’s so unfair!” She rubbed the tears from her eyes. “What did I ever do to her?! I didn’t do nothing, did I? She doesn’t hate me, does she?” Julia blubbered on, while Jacob wiped the tears off her face with his thumbs before she fought his hands off. “Why didn’t you make her stay?”

“Life isn’t always that fair and simple Julia, and you have every right to angry and disappointed with both her and me, all I wanted was for you to have some semblance of understanding for the situation when I told you and maybe I should have tried explaining everything to you earlier but I didn’t know how…” This time Julia didn’t fight when he wiped the tears off her face, neither when Jacob picked her up, wondering when she had grown so tall and heavy. Once she had been light as a feather in his arms, still he hugged her close and allowed her to hide his face.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” She didn’t finish that sentence and perhaps she didn’t know how either. “I'm disappointed,” she finally huffed. “And...”

“Hurt, I know,” Jacob answered quietly as he sat with her. “Your mother doesn’t hate you, Julia...”

“Then why won’t she see me, she’s unfair! I hate her... and I hate that you weren't there instead of her.”

Unable to answer that Jacob ran his hand in circles over her back like so many times before to soothe her. Waiting till she had calmed down some more before he spoke again. “Do you want to see her, Julia? No, don’t answer that right now, I want you to sleep on that and then think about it some more… and if you really do want to see her, we’re going to do just that, alright? She might have never made an effort, but I gave you a promise,” and he nodded when Julia mumbled those words in repeat, “I promised myself that I would let you see her, no matter how I feel about it, as long as its safe for you, I will let you see her and I will do everything in my power to make it possible.”

Julia only nodded in answer, allowing him to soothe her till she was able to drink her tea and at last fall asleep in his lap. Any other time Jacob might have carried her to bed, but now he stayed in his chair with Julia curled up in his lap. Till he fell asleep himself and George had to wake him when he found his way back home.

 

_London, April 1868_

“You look tired,” Maxwell stated when his eyes caught Jacob’s figure staggering onto the stage of the Alhambra.

Jacob would have preferred to find him in his home more than here, but with how his week had gone, he figured this was about the best he could get. “Tired with humanity – yes,” Jacob groaned. “You know, sometimes I wish I could stab people for being stupid… or annoying pricks, or both.” He flopped down on of the chairs near the table that still was the centrepiece of the stage.

“Why don’t you?” Maxwell inquired pouring Jacob a drink. But All Jacob did was stretch out his arm, hand open for Maxwell hand him the pint.

He propped his legs up on the table, and Maxwell didn’t reprimand him for it. Instead the little smile he always carried when he saw him tugged at the corners of his mouth, letting the warm feeling of comfort rise in Jacob’s chest despite everything else. “It’s against the Creed,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It’s… not even about that… just ugh people.”

Maxwell laughed and Jacob drank and for a moment peace had been restored in his life. “What was it that frazzled your nerves so terribly, my dear? It can’t have been Starrick’s remaining gang leaders.”

For some reason, every little endearment that left Maxwell’s lips made something fuzzy and warm rise in his chest that made it hard not to smile. But it was also very hard not to grimace when he thought of his latest victim. “Oh, you’re not gonna believe the bloody week I had,” Jacob grumbled. Half a laugh on his lips as he drank some more.

“Try me.” Maxwell had pulled up a chair and stretched out his legs, feet crossed at the ankles.

Groaning, Jacob ran his fingers through his hair, shoving his cap to the floor as he did so, where it lay because he wasn’t going to pick it up now. Leaving his hair as dishevelled as it was. Not in the mood to make an effort. “I was this close to stabbing Brudenell in the eyeballs,” Jacob declared once he realised that Maxwell wasn’t going to budge and for some reason really did want to hear what he had been up to.

With a smirk, Maxwell remarked, “your fingers are touching.”

Jacob couldn’t help the laugh. “Yes, they are – I stabbed him in the neck, almost as gratifying I assure you.” Both of them smiled now and for the first time since the day had started, he was starting to feel good again. “Went rambling on about his battles and heroics and how I should be proud of killing him as he was dying.”

“What a prick.” Maxwell made a dissatisfied sound in his throat. “I could never stand the man, always blabbering about honour this, victory that, his campaign… I have no idea how Starrick was able to tolerate that man.”

Jacob continued drinking, watching the liquid swirl in the stage lights for a moment where he simply gave into the emotional exhaustion. “I had to escort Mrs Disraeli through the Devil's Acre to get her to tell me his name,” he recalled with resignation.

Maxwell laughed. “I would have told you if only you had asked.”

This time Jacob rolled his eyes, he puffed his cheeks as he let out a breath. If it weren't for the pint he was holding he would have folded his arms. “I can find things out on my own.”

Again Maxwell laughed, but it was kinder this time. “I wasn't questioning your ability, my boy.”

Frowning Jacob shoved his jaw forward. Frustrated and weary he sighed, shoulders slumping down. “It was weird, someone stole her dog, I got it back she was… surprisingly fine...” Knitting his brows tighter Jacob stopped to talk, thinking about what he had overheard when he had come back to find her in a casual conversation with the Blighters. “I don't think I was ever so stressed in my life.” He laughed an empty, exhausted laugh. “It wasn't terrible, I just never want to do it again…”

Maxwell gestured for him to continue. Prompting Jacob to raise his brows and shrug confused. “You hardly spent your whole week shepherding the prime minister's wife around and stabbing the Prick of Balaclava.”

“Oh… no…?” Jacob couldn't help but to pull a face. The memories came flooding back with way too much ease and it made him immediately want to strangle the nearest blighter. Unfortunately, that happened to be Maxwell, so Jacob contented himself by merely scowling at him which earned him an amused look from the other. “No...” Jacob reiterated. “Nooo...” He repeated, complaining now when Maxwell set their drinks aside and dragged him slowly from the chair. Which only prompted Jacob to slump against him. It was the middle of the day and the theatre was empty. There weren't any rehearsals. Just Maxwell and him on the empty dim stage.

The smell of gunpowder clung to his coat, along with the Alhambra's very unique combination of wine, cigarette smoke, fake blood and perfume. Old wood too, but never real blood which Jacob found particularly odd. Thinking that the one person who made him feel at ease should remind him of what he had replaced. For Maxwell was London's most notorious criminal and to say that he wasn't like blood in his mouth felt oddly wrong. Although Jacob couldn't quite put his finger on it. His mind was hazy from exertion and frustration.

“I was asked to pick up a friend of some friends... about two weeks ago...” Sighing Jacob straightened himself, but left his arms folded behind Maxwell's neck. “Who… happened to be engaged against his will, and formulated this really intelligent plan about faking his own death,” Jacob sighed, then grimaced, but ultimately laughed. “Fast forward to this week and him having realised how it was love at first sight and he made a mistake, blah blah broken heart, he wants her back… and you'd think that's the end of it, but no I had to fake-kidnap the poor woman and fake-lose a fight against that pillock...” Jacob breathed. “And she believed the whole charade...” Tired he blinked at Maxwell who seemed to be in thought about something that he'd said. “I’ve never seen two people who deserve each other more and I've never wanted to strangle to civilians more.”

“Really?” Maxwell clearly was amused by his story. There was a moment of pause before he said. “What could I do to make your day better?” As he spoke he took Jacob’s arms from his shoulders and tugged him along for what Jacob recognised as the steps of a dance.

“You’re already making it better,” Jacob admitted. “So far you’ve been the best part of my day.” He didn’t feel much like dancing, but the spark of joy in Maxwell’s eyes was hard to resist so he followed along. In the back of his mind there was this little voice that reminded him that he couldn’t just go on living in Maxwell’s world forever, that his own would eventually call for him, but right now Jacob couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

 

_London, July 1880_

With a little help of George Jacob had managed to formulate a schedule for Lydia and her girls, and put it into action immediately. They were a charming crowd, reminding him in many ways of what he missed about having Evie not around. They fussed over their training outfits and each other’s hair as much as over their weapons and gauntlets. Two of them wanted cloaks, so Jacob had to make a note about that for future reference because they had seen pictures of Evie and liked how they looked on her. And Jacob found himself looking forward to the hours of his week that he spent with them. Pleased to see that Julia and Maxwell seemed to be getting along with them just fine.

“What’s that… no don’t answer I know what that is, I want to know why you didn’t tell me.” Jacob question, the sigh on his lips full of exasperation.

Lydia scowled at him. Her hands were clenching into fists and grasping at air. “You wouldn’t have trained me.”

“Yes, and rightfully so, nobody in their right mind trains a pregnant woman to fight to her death in hand to hand combat!” Jacob hissed back. He didn’t mean to be angry at her, in fact, he was mostly frustrated with himself for not having realised anything any sooner. “How far along are you?”

Likewise frustrated Lydia smoothed her outfit over the bump that it couldn’t conceal anymore. “Four months… roughly…” She sighed.

Jacob nodded, grinding his teeth. “Fine, I don’t want to you see in hand to hand combat until the kid is born and you’re in fine fettle again, do we understand each other?”

“Just that?” Lydia was unable to hide her surprise.

“Well, if there’s one thing I learnt then its that mothers make the best marksman,” Jacob replied. A grin tugged at the edge of his mouth and he watched it replicated on Lydia’s face. 

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Lydia almost jumped in place almost like an excited child. But she gathered herself quickly and relief seemed to wash over her. 

 

_London, December 1880_

Julia had taken the news that Hiram was a true part of her family and just as advertised her uncle with joy and delight. She had asked holes into him about her mother, while Hiram had tried to find answers for her to his best ability. In an effort to allow Julia to spend more time with him Jacob had allowed for Hiram to teach her how to tend to and care for a horse. After all, she was still a little too small to actually ride one, but Hiram would sit her on the back of one his horses anyway and guide her around the yard. And she would pretend to be a princess or bandit or warrior.

But now it was the beginning of winter and it was too cold outside to ride the horses and Julia had to content herself with feeding and grooming them.

She had been fascinated with Lydia’s growing belly perhaps it was the first time she was able to follow the process in real time and had a myriad of questions which Lydia had endured with amusement. Likely because she had favoured to redirect them to him for her own amusement and much to Jacob's disgruntlement.

So, of course, Julia had insisted on seeing the baby. With Maxwell in tow of course, because everything she found interesting she had to show her baby brother. Although Jacob wasn’t so sure a four-year-old would be that interested in holding a baby. But he seemed to be curious enough what she was making all that fuss about.

With Julia on one side and Maxwell on the other hand, Jacob had neared the assassin den. It had once been a gang stronghold of the Blighters, then for a while belonged to the Rooks and a few years back Jacob had claimed it for the assassins in a matter of convenience.

The quiet that lingered over the place was almost eerie, but Jacob told himself it was only because Lydia should be more than exhausted by now. Yet when he couldn’t fight the glum feeling that settled in his stomach, Jacob took both of his children to the side and instructed them to wait. “I’m just going to see if she isn’t asleep or too exhausted for visitors, you wait here alright? We’ll stay for the night if that’s the case,” Jacob promised when Julia wanted to object. Now she nodded instead and voiced her agreement.

The smile on his face was strained when he left them and moved upstairs where they had located Lydia.

“Knock, knock...” Jacob quietly announced his presence at the half-open door. The room was dark. Lydia was sitting on her bed, in a now dirty nightgown, blonde strands of hair matted to her face with sweat. Covered in a blanket she had hugged her knees close, clawing her fingers into the bed sheet. “Lydia...” Jacob spoke as softly and quietly as he could possibly manage.

Instead of replying Lydia’s breath quivered and she hugged her legs closer. The sound that came from her throat sounded like a sob, but Jacob pretended he didn’t hear. Pretended he didn't notice how her shoulders shook as he sat down by her side and wrapped his arm around them.

She didn’t have to say anything as she leaned against him and Jacob ran his hand over her arm. He leaned his head against Lydia’s. Wishing for something he could say, but there was nothing he could think of. “I have Julia and Maxwell downstairs, I need to go to them...” Jacob whispered into Lydia’s hair who didn’t react. She only sank to her side when Jacob got up and he had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other while he walked out the door.

Almost by reflex he grabbed for the nearest assassin. “Hey, grab someone and get a bath ready, we’re not leaving her in that bed, do you understand me?”

There were no objections so Jacob proceeded downstairs where Julia sat with Maxwell on a cushioned bench, but jumped up immediately when she saw him.

“What happened? Can we see the baby?” She immediately demanded to know. Jacob felt like his knees were going to give out when he approached her. “What happened?” Julia repeated. Now with more concern.

“Julia darling, you can’t,” Jacob said as he knelt down in front of them. Confusion met him on both of their faces, which made him wonder if Maxwell even had a concept of death just yet. And he tried to remember how much he had grasped his mother’s absence himself at that age. His gaze shifted back to Julia who was growing more and more concerned now. “You can’t,” Jacob made sure to look at both of them. “You can’t because the baby is dead.”

“Dead?” Maxwell echoed unable to grasp the full meaning of the word.

Gathering himself Jacob took a moment to explain. “When someone dies they stop doing everything, even breathing and they don’t wake up from that.”

“Oh…” Maxwell frowned. “Okay...” That didn’t sound so sure, but as he obviously needed to think about it Jacob decided to give him the time and focus on Julia instead who had a much better and much more graphic understanding of death already. And most of that thanks to Jack.

She shook her head. “No, babies don’t die,” she insisted. “They don’t.” Julia’s voice quivered. “Old people die and heroes who slay dragons and evil queens and villains and Blighters but not babies… right?”

Jacob would have wished there to be an easy answer to her words. One that would prove her right, but instead he slowly shook his head. Watching the distress on her face grow. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people, sometimes they happen to those who deserve it, sometimes babies die and it’s never fair.” Out of words and out of power Jacob hugged them both till Julia eased out of his hug and Maxwell went along with her. A hand on each of their faces Jacob added quietly, “I want to make sure Lydia is well cared for, so I’d like to stay for a while, but if you want to go home I’ll have someone fetch George, alright?”

Julia nodded. “I wanna go home… I think...” She muttered, looking so lost Jacob didn’t know what to do with himself. “Can you bring uncle George here anyway, I don’t wanna be alone...”

“Sure,” Jacob promised as he took their hands. He waited with them till George arrived, and while Maxwell asked the occasional disjointed question, Julia only buried her face in his side. She did the same when she saw George and ran up to up, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his coat. And while the sight might have made his heart jump for joy on another occasion Jacob couldn’t help but to feel a sting that it had to be under circumstances like these. With a quiet sigh, he neared them with Maxwell at his hand and quiet as can be explained the situation to George.

Lydia was still curled up in her bed by the time Jacob returned to her room. He sat by the side of her bed again, running his hand over her hair for a while, tucking the stray strands behind her ear. The bath had just been finished and Jacob had given further orders to change the sheets, air the room out and make it somehow less glum while Lydia was in the bath. First, he had to get her there of course.

“C’mon.” Jacob tugged gently at her shoulder. “We’ll get you cleaned up, there’s a nice warm bath waiting for you.”

Lydia didn’t budge, but she also didn’t stop him when Jacob lifted her up and carried her to the tub. Carefully placing her back on her own two foot as they stood in front of it. He kept a hand on her shoulder to steady her, realising Lydia was using the opportunity to lean against him. “Do you think you can manage getting out of that yourself?” He asked, while gently tugging at the sleeve of her nightgown.

Without a sound, not even a breath it seemed Lydia shook her head. Jacob sighed. “Well, plan B is I undress you.” She didn’t even have a sharp-tongued remark for that. Worried, Jacob glanced at her. Glanced at her dull eyes that stared at the hot water.

She looked down her figure, watching as Jacob opened the gown and helped her step out of it and into the water. Or rather he carried her into it, because her grip was weak and legs wobbly with every attempted step. A bone-aching sigh went through her body once she was submerged in water. Except for her head which rested against a towel at the edge of the bathtub. Her eyes followed him as he poured water over her hair. Carding his fingers through as gently as possible.

“You can stay here as long as you like, I’ll come fetch you when you’re ready for some clean clothes, alright?” Jacob scrutinised her face, but the only answer she gave him was a blink that might or might not have been deliberate.

Downstairs there was George with Julia and Maxwell, all three of them looking rather glum as Jacob joined them in waiting. Instead of the usual ruckus that accompanied Julia’s existence she sat quietly in a corner with Maxwell at her side who had visibly given up on trying to get her to play with him. Instead of sitting with her Jacob made himself comfortable next to George who was sitting across from them. With his arms folded and legs stretched out he had contented himself to watching them just as quietly. Right now he needed the company even if only momentarily.

As heavy as his bones felt Jacob considered it a miracle he had made it downstairs. “Julia… Max,” he got his attention but Julia seemed deaf to his voice. “Julia… Jube… c’mon, c’mere...”

“I’m bored,” Maxwell declared and Jacob ruffled his hair as he got up to sit with them. Meanwhile Julia only buried herself in his chest once she had found her way into his lap. “Wanna play some games.” But he was quietly shushed by Jacob. “Play with me,” he bugged Julia again and began to pout when she told him to go away.

Hours seemed to pass till Lydia seemed ready or at least cold enough to exit the bathtub again. She still swayed a little when Jacob helped her get up. But she was unresponsive as before when he dried her hair and body, and helped her into fresh clothes. Staggering, slow and careful he walked her back to the bed that didn’t look anymore like a woman had given birth in it just hours before. The realisation didn’t only seem to stump him but also Lydia.

Ultimately her need to lie down succumbed all else and she would have collapsed onto the mattress if Jacob hadn’t eased her down.

“Do you want me to stay?” If he were given any agency Jacob would have liked to as much as he would have liked not to.

“No,” Lydia breathed after a moment of silence so long Jacob had given up on her answer. “Thank you...” She muttered into her bed sheets.

“No need to… I’m going back downstairs, I…” Once more he didn’t know what to say or do, other than just keep her company for a while longer till he felt ready to leave her alone. But her express wish had been for him to leave so he did just that. Without a second thought he curled up at George’s side again, much like Maxwell – tired from all the waiting – had curled up in Julia’s arms in his sleep. Just this once he didn’t want to care about what anyone thought, he wanted the comfort of sleeping next to him if he could sleep at all. Listening to his quiet breathing, while George’s fingers tangled in his hair. Wondering if his parents would have lived a happy life if it had been them instead of their mother who had died. Wondering how life had been without Evie at his side and whether Evie would have ever missed him if she had been the only one to make it. But there were no answers to any of those questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for the 17th:  
> »Rory babbled happy nonsense in Evie’s arms and attempted to gnaw on her foot.«


	18. Evie's Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you all remember when I said you'd get answers to all the questions Evie raised so many chapters ago? The time has finally come. A little belated but uh, it's good we're here now, isn't it? Wow. Eighteen chapters. Damn, I'm so happy. But we finally learn that Evie is just as bad at talking about things as Jacob is.

_London, December 1881_

Lydia had buried her child alone in the middle of the night and come back to find in the cruel irony of fate ripping a friend from her life and leaving a little baby girl in its wake. But for all the love she had wanted to give her, all the crying, all the sleepless nights had been too much and eventually, she had found her way into Jacob’s home.

With an eye-roll and playful exasperation, she had been accepted by George. And while Julia seemed as delighted as fascinated, Maxwell had seemed like he didn’t know what to do with a baby other than stare at it. “I don’t think I want another sister,” he had said, while holding her for the first time. While his brows had furrowed and he had looked over at Julia. Who had immediately grinned and declared that their new sister would sure be a good partner in crime to them. Maxwell had only rolled his eyes.

Now she was a year old and very much not their partner crime and a very bad scapegoat as Julia had come to find out. Although Jacob found her attempts to blame her baby sister quite amusing.

“Are you sure you don’t want her anymore?” Jacob inquired in all seriousness. It wasn’t the first time Lydia had mentioned it, not the first time they had talked this over, but he somehow felt it that this was the final time. A younger version of himself would have insisted, but right now Jacob was more concerned with Rory’s well-being.

But Lydia shook her head, as she watched Rory who was comfortably asleep on Jacob’s lap. “I’ll be fine being aunt Lydia, I get to do all the fun things,” she replied with a laugh and twinkle in her eyes. “Besides I can see she has a good home with you and I can come see her anytime I want.”

“Shunning responsibility, are we?” He teased her with a smirk. The idea that Lydia had wanted to give up little Rory hadn’t sat well with him for most of the entire year. Her actions had reminded him too much of his father’s, only that she hadn’t run off to India in her grief but had stayed and come to visit once she had been better.

Before Jacob could get another word in Julia had snuck close enough to chime in. “Actually it’s Aurora, cause she sleeps like the dead, look.” Promptly she had lifted her baby sister off of Jacob’s lap and held her up like a doll, tugging at her face when Jacob pulled Rory back into his arms. Proclaiming “look!” as she did so.

“Don’t do that Julia,” Jacob reminded her. “Be gentle!”

“I am!” She announced with a huff but smiled again immediately when she pulled Rory’s mouth into a smile with her thumbs. “See, she doesn’t even flinch,” Julia grinned.

Lydia laughed. “Rory is a sweet name, I like it.”

 

_London, February 1882_

They had been playing dress-up when Julia came barging into his study. The fact alone that he had one could only be attributed to the presence of three children in his life and that he had been starting to accumulate all of his work in one place. So, Jacob guessed, he had a study. And Julia barged through the door with a bright smile. She twirled to make the coat she wore spin and laughed. “Look at what I found, Papa!”

Before him the image of her was overlayed by one of Maxwell. Maxwell with his sly grin and the spark in his eyes, wearing his favourite coat. Or perhaps Jacob’s favourite coat on him. The one of which five copies had been lost in the flames of the Alhambra, all the while another had been sitting in Maxwell’s flat as if nothing had ever happened. The one that Jacob remembered burying his face in when he wanted to sleep but it was too noisy and bright all around him.

And now his daughter wore it with a smile so big on her face that it would have been able to compete with Maxwell’s manic joy.

Albeit the fact that it was somewhat too big for her, Jacob could see already that if she only grew a little taller and her arms a little longer it would one day fit her perfectly.

“What are you staring at?” She laughed. Still smiling at him. “Can I have it? Please, please, please! It’s just been collecting dust at the bottom of a chest, I’ll fix it myself too!” Now Julia wiggled a finger through a hole in the sleeve. “Please,” she insisted.

Sighing Jacob leaned back, abandoning the notes Freddy had given him, wondering when he had become a watch dog for the police. Thinking that perhaps he had always been since this wasn’t any different than what they had been doing under Starrick’s reign. “Come here,” he said with a smile.

Julia practically skipped towards him and around the table so she could stand in front of him. Grinning her best grin, and oh so proud of her find.

A part of him wanted to hug her and inhale the coats dusty scent as if in hope to smell Maxwell still on it. But of course that wouldn’t be the case and Jacob knew that better than anyone. Maxwell was long dead and gone from his life now and he would stay exactly that way. No matter what anyone of them did.

With a breath, he straightened the jacket for her. “You know,” Jacob couldn’t help the little smile as he looked at the coat on her shoulders. “This coat, it’s a very special one,” solemn he lifted his eyes to look at her, “it once belonged to a very, very powerful man… and perhaps when you walk around the streets with it, some people who remember will turn their head twice and stare, while other's will walk a little faster, so I always want you to keep your head up when you wear it, cause it’s a piece of armour… a very old, dusty piece of armour, but armour nonetheless...” Jacob’s voice trailed off as he noticed how quiet she had grown.

“Why?” Julia asked with a smile, clearly meaning to humour him.

“Because… the man who wore it would have made spring-heeled Jack quiver with terror and hunted him down...” With a smirk he watched Julia’s eyes grow big as he spoke. “So wear it with pride.”

As she nodded a smile much too kind for a man of Maxwell’s standing spread across her face. “Sure.” With that, she patted some invisible dust off the coat and tugged it into place.

 

_London, April 1882_

Julia had stayed up, waiting till her siblings were asleep and had wrapped herself in Maxwell’s coat to fight the anxiousness she was clearly feeling. Quiet like a mouse she had crept up on them and crawled into their bed like she had when she had been much younger and scared of the dark. Only that she had been much less quiet back then. Jacob smiled when saw her sitting in the dim light of the lamp in front of her. Beneath Maxwell’s coat, she wore her nightgown, but the expression on her face said that she was less than ready to go to bed.

“I want to see mum,” she said very quiet and very earnest, “I want to see my mother, tell me where she is.” Her question wrapped into a demand that wanted to be stone cold but quivered like the surface of a lake during a storm instead.

“Delhi,” Jacob answered just as quietly. “She moved there some years ago with her husband.” The news had Julia taken aback and questioning her own choices, he could see it on her troubled, frowning face. “Jube, how about we visit your aunt and while we’re there I find your mother and if you want to see her, we’ll go see her and if you don’t want to, we don’t...”

Rubbing a few stray tears from her face Julia nodded. “I'd like that... Who did she marry?”

Jacob shrugged in honesty. “I don’t know, it was sometime after you were born, I lost contact with her, there were so many things I had to take care of including you I just didn’t have the energy to chase after her...” When he placed his hand on hers Julia pulled it away, she turned her head as well as she quietly asked him to go on. “I don’t even know if she has children...” With that, Jacob rolled over and sat up to pull something from the drawer of his nightstand.

It was the envelope that Val had given him. Still as heavy as the day she had placed it in his heads but looking a bit more worn since. “Your mother wanted me to give this to you she moved to Delhi, I don’t know if it will be able to answer any of your questions, but I wanted you to have it when you were ready to see her, it’s yours now...” Jacob encouraged her to take the letter. “You can leave it, read it, burn it, it’s your decision...”  
With hands clumsy from disappointment and anger and sadness, Julia grasped the letter harder than need be when she took it from his own. Reminding him too much of himself as she did so.

“I’m sorry, Julia.” Jacob moved his thumb across her cheek. “For whatever wrong you think I’ve done with this because I surely didn’t do everything right…” There was a pause. “Do you remember what I told you about Rory’s mother?” Julia nodded. “That’s how my mother passed away too, which had our father so grief-stricken that he moved to India… without us, and for six years Evie and I thought we wouldn’t ever see him and then one day he’s just there and he takes us with him, into a strange new house with strange new rooms and strange new food and strange new rules – all like nothing happened, and that never sat right with me, I always thought he liked Evie better… I couldn’t wrap my head around how he couldn’t care less about us and suddenly we were his world, made me he was faking it for… bloody hell I don’t know who, I was six, it seemed extremely logical to me at that point...” His speech faltered when Julia only eyed him with a questioning glance, but there was a small smile on face. “When you were born I never wanted for you to feel like that, like you weren’t wanted in my life, and I didn’t know any better than to tell your mother was busy or not in London at the time whenever you asked, because I didn’t know how to tell you that no matter how important you are to me, the same might not apply to your mother and the saddest possible thing I could imagine myself explaining to my own child because you deserve so much better.”

“Would you...” Her mumble was almost inaudible and it had come after a moment of silence so long Jacob almost hadn’t noticed it at first. “Have read a letter from your father?” She asked almost shy.

Gently Jacob cupped the side of her face. “No, I wouldn’t I would have burnt it on the spot and made sure he saw or at least found the remains and ultimately I would have regretted it because it wasn’t what I wanted… and I wish I knew what the right thing for you to do was, but I don’t, I’m sorry Julia, this is something you have to decide for yourself...” Another moment of silence passed over them. “If it were up to me, you would have your mother, but it’s not...”

“Why?!” She demanded, choking back tears in frustration. “She should be here, with you, and me! Not married! And in India of all places, why didn’t you make her stay?”

But Jacob had no answer for that and Julia wanted her space so his attempt hug her ended in her stomping to her room. Sighing Jacob sank back down, barely aware of the fact that George had been listening to the whole conversation. Jacob had long since been able to convince him that it was worth lying down with even if he didn’t sleep.

“Ethan did want you, he wouldn’t have come back otherwise,” George told him quietly.

There had been a time where Jacob would have lashed out at him for those words, but now he merely made a low sound in his throat and buried his nose in George’s back. “I know… I mean logically I can follow that statement, but sometimes stuff like this still makes me feel six all over again…”

Jacob could hear the grin in George’s hum as he took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Need a reminder of how you’re definitely not six anymore?”

The question made Jacob grin against his back. “Maybe I should remind you that you’re not twenty-five anymore,” he retorted just as playful.

 

_Bombay, September 1882_

Perhaps sticking everybody on a ship for four months would have been the easier solution, but Jacob didn’t want to be stuck on a ship with three children for four months when there were perfectly working train routes all the way down to India with only a minimal ship journey. Jacob wasn’t so sure if he had enjoyed the nth repetition of “I’m tired” or “are we there yet?” either. But the only true worry he had had apart from his children and Valérie had been what Jack might do in his absence.

Despite what Jack liked him to believe Jacob knew he hadn’t calmed down over the years, instead he had let his disappointment and hatred ferment in Jacob’s absence. Waiting for the time to strike. Waiting for him to leave or let his guard down. And as much as Jacob wanted to believe that he had left the city in good hands, it took a lot of reasoning on George’s side to ease his worries.

Bombay was as Jacob remembered it. Warm and sunny, although a lot more rainy this time around on their arrival, but the rain was warm and Julia dragged Maxwell along to jump into the nearest puddle much to Jacob’s amusement.

Not having announced his visit there was nobody to pick them up, but Jacob remembered his way to the assassin den in the heart of the city well enough guide his little group without any trouble to it.

They were tired and drenched from the rain when they reached it and Rory was making a fuss, unhappy about the heat followed by so much rain. And Jacob wasn’t able to soothe her until they were inside and he was able to dry her off and dress her into dry and comfortable clothes again. Julia and Max were much less willing to get changed, although they weren’t complaining once they were dried off and dressed. He even caught Julia admiring the design on her clothes.

“I’ll go find Evie, keep them out of trouble,” he smirked at George and had just left the room when he ran into Karan. For a moment his world seemed to stop and Jacob wanted to apologise for ever having asked Nitya to come to London. Knowing all the same that she might as well have died in her homeland just months after he had left. There was never any telling when their lives might come to an end. But still it had been his fault in the worst possible way, and the letter he'd been forced to write in the aftermath had been one of the worst in his life.

He had never wanted it to be Nitya. “I’m sorry,” Jacob said quietly when he found his tongue again. Another moment of silence passed.

Karan nodded. Slowly and carefully. “You want to see your sister, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’d love to actually,” Jacob admitted unable to hide his smile at the notion. He noticed Karan glancing past him at George and the children. “And just me, for now, I’m not going to them lose on her all at once.”

A faint smile appeared on Karan’s lips and he nodded. “Come with me,” he said and Jacob followed. Yet something felt off as Karan led him along and then prompted him to wait. He wanted to take a peak but the situation didn’t feel like Evie was in a meeting or otherwise engaged in assassin business. But he waited and he kept his gaze to the ground not to stare through the door because he didn’t know what would await him and he didn’t know if wanted to know if it made him feel this way.

“Go on, you can come in now,” Karan encourage him after stepping out of the door again. But Jacob first had to force the blue of the eagle vision away again.

He nodded then and mumbled something to the effect of “sure, thank you.” But he couldn’t help how slow his steps were as he approached the door and peered inside. “Evie?” He asked quietly into the dimly lit room. Jacob watched the bedsheets rustle and a familiar figure in a nightgown slowly sit up. His heart jumped for joy and then again when he noticed how she was pressing a hand to the side of her stomach, pressing her palm to an injury.

“Jacob?” It was more disbelief than a question and she barely got to finish saying his name before he had walked over to pick her off the bed and hug her close. “Jacob,” she laughed. Tired, but she laughed and hugged him as well, but Jacob noticed how her arms lacked the usual strength and how she allowed herself to sink into his hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to be your surprise birthday present,” he joked as he eased her back into the bed, where he sat down with her. “You could say I have important business to attend to, but I also want to see you, it’s been so long, you have no idea how much I missed you.”

Evie pulled her legs a little closer as she tried to get comfortable. Pleased when Jacob moved so she could lean against him. “You should have still written me,” she scolded him with a smile. “Did you come alone?”

“Nope brought the whole family… well I didn’t bring Clara or Jack, but I substituted with George,” he replied with a smirk.

“George?” Evie inquired in disbelief. “You managed to get him out of Crawley, how did that happen?”

“Oh, I managed more than that.” Jacob laughed. “But right now, I’m here for you… tell me what happened.” In the long moment of silence that followed Jacob eased himself down onto the bed, so he could lie next to her. Their legs entangled almost on their own and Jacob clasped his hands around hers as she reached them out to grab for his. “What is it?” Jacob asked when she closed her eyes with a sigh.

“It’s just that I feel silly, for not telling you any sooner,” she smiled into the dim light of the room. “So many opportunities...” Evie muttered to herself.

“I doubt you could have,” Jacob replied. Brushing his knuckles over the bandages on her side. “Looks pretty fresh to me.” But at his side, Evie only shook her head, quietly saying that it wasn't the recent injury she was talking about.

As he had spoken her eyes had lingered on him observant as ever. “You had a nephew.” She said into the silence, so quietly Jacob had to stop and think for a moment to be sure he had heard right. “Everything was going so fast after we killed Starrick I thought my life would never slow down again, when we came here I was dead set on marrying Henry, I wanted us to have a life together, having a child would have gone against everything I had planned, but I did anyway…” Evie smiled, sombre with the memory. “When I knew that I was pregnant I had this moment where I realised that I would turn my life upside down for Taj… and then he was born, and then he got sick and all I could do… was nothing, I just had to watch my baby suffer, hoping that some miracle would make him well again… and it didn’t, and it felt like my whole life came to a halt…” She rubbed the tears from the corners of her eyes and continued. “All of a sudden it felt like everything was going wrong, like I was a failure as a person and as mother, and I didn’t know how to fix any of it, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I could barely drink, I couldn’t get up and dressed, I couldn’t stand to be around Henry, I wish I could take back all the things I yelled at him in my pain… I didn’t even let him try.” Evie sighed in an attempt to remain composed. “I don’t even know how I expected him to make it on his own… I couldn’t even think of that… Anima just decided… to take care of me, I guess? I can’t remember asking anyone to, but… it was good, not having Henry around, not having anyone demand anything from me, just… company when I needed it, and I guess it kind of stayed that way.”

Jacob had stayed quiet throughout her explanation. Only realising now that he had stopped breathing at some point. Remembering that he had to resume it. An invisible cord had wrapped itself tightly around his ribcage restricting his ability to breathe comfortably as he pulled her into a hug. Gently, as to not cause her pain and discomfort, but Evie didn’t even make a sound and hugged him so tightly, Jacob thought he might as well forget how to breathe altogether. “I’m sorry, I wish I could have been there, I wish you would have told me,” he whispered into her hair.

Evie didn’t answer. Or perhaps she didn’t want to. That was until Jacob felt her huff against his shoulder. “I was… jealous and… upset, when you told me about Julia and her mother, I didn’t think it would affect me this much, but it just brought everything back and as much as I wanted to talk to you… I couldn’t get out a word… and then I just wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, like Taj didn’t exist…” Of course, that hadn’t help any either. Evie didn’t have to say a word for him to understand that.

Jacob kissed her head, smoothing the fabric of her nightgown over her back till Evie was lulled back into comfort. “Feeling a little better?”

“Yes,” she smiled faintly and pressed him close again, before adding, “bring the baby assassins I need something to cheer me up.”

“No George?” Jacob questioned with a quiet laugh.

“He’s tolerated.”

Again Jacob laughed and entangled himself a little awkwardly from her limbs to go find George and his children. Or their. The thought kept coming back to Jacob occasionally. Rory and Maxwell didn’t know their family without him and Julia had long since accepted him as a part of it anyway, but right now there was Evie to worry about and nieces and a nephew to introduce. First, he had to pull his two older children aside though.

“Alright you two,” Jacob had grabbed a hand of each Julia and Maxwell and crouched down for them. “I know you’re both very excited to see your aunt, but she’s recovering from an injury so try to be a little less... boisterous...”

“I’m not boisterous, she’s boisterous,” Maxwell pointed out.

Julia rolled her eyes and Jacob smirked. “She might be the instigator but I know you can cause just as much of a commotion as she can, now just try and behave, for your aunt’s sake.”

“Is she alright?” Julia asked concerned to which Jacob nodded. He watched her sigh in relief.

Evie had lit up the remaining lamps in her room to brighten it up and sat expectantly on her bed with her hands in her lap.

Against his words and better judgement, Julia and Maxwell raced each other to her room and stormed through the door. “I won,” Maxwell declared smug as he was the first to reach the door and open it.

“No, I did,” Julia remarked and pushed the door open. But she was immediately distracted by Evie, greeting her with a delighted smile that went from ear to ear. “I missed you so much, I have so much to tell you, do you know about Maxwell, do you know we have a little sister now!” She hopped onto the side of her bed and threw her arms around her neck.

Evie returned the hug as Jacob watched, he couldn’t help the little smile that tugged on his mouth wishing there wasn’t an ocean separating them all from each other.

When Evie let go of Julia she turned to Maxwell who had patiently waited his turn. “You must be Maxwell, I’m so happy to meet you, Jacob told me a lot about you and your sister.”

“And how she always gets me in trouble?” Maxwell frowned and sulked a little.

Evie laughed quietly. “I’ve been told you’re very eager to get yourself into it,” she said with a smirk. “Just like Jacob when he was your age.”

“I’ve heard a lot about that,” Maxwell huffed and rolled his eyes. But he happily accepted her hug and joined Julia at Evie’s side while Jacob brought in Rory.

“And who are you, Jacob didn’t tell me about you, you cute little thing,” Evie cooed as she stretched out her arms for Jacob to place Rory in them.

“I told you, we got a little sister!” Julia chirped. “Her name’s Aurora, but everyone just calls her Rory.”

Rory babbled happy nonsense in Evie’s arms and attempted to gnaw on her foot.

With all the talking that Julia and Maxwell did neither Jacob nor George managed to get more than a few words. Albeit the fact that Jacob didn’t particularly want to talk and rather enjoyed watching Evie being swarmed by his children. Meanwhile, George had contented himself with watching the whole lot of them or so it seemed, as Jacob could feel his eyes lingering on him.

He hadn’t told Evie. He wasn’t even sure what there was to tell. It wasn’t like anyone had put a label on them, least of all they themselves. He hadn’t even asked George about that. He hadn’t even asked George about talking to Evie either. He would have to deal with that later when they were alone. If that was even possible in the first place.

It was only after all three children had fallen asleep that some semblance of quiet had returned to the room. Rory was soundly asleep in Evie’s lap while Julia and Maxwell had fallen asleep in Jacob’s. George had made himself comfortable on one of the chairs and seemed to doze.

“So what happened?” Evie asked as she settled comfortably against a pile of pillows on her bed. She shifted Rory from her lap to her chest in the process without Rory making even the slightest fuss. Her eyes were lingering on George and Jacob laughed quietly.

“Nothing happened,” he wanted to say, but instead he shrugged. “Jack happened,” Jacob sighed. “When he killed Nitya I realised I needed help, I didn’t even write you till I was back in Crawley and feeling moderately okay about Julia’s and Maxwell’s safety… I asked him, but mostly I had to wrestle the council to hand him over to me.” A little empty smile graced his lips as he snorted. “George went almost enthusiastic.”

“Did he?” Evie smirked amused. “I didn’t think you to would ever get along.”

“I didn’t think that either,” Jacob admitted quietly, now equal amounts amused. “But...” He shrugged. “I’m very glad to have him…” More than glad, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. And perhaps she saw something on his face in that moment because she looked at him quizzically. “I was on edge because of Jack for so long, I don’t think I would have been able to sleep without him keeping an eye on the children… remember how we used to wonder if he ever sleeps?”

“Yes,” Evie laughed. “We made up stories what could possibly justify him being awake at all times.”

“He’s the worst night owl you’ll ever meet, and less cranky when you let him nap half the day.” Both of them laughed now and fell into comfortable silence. They talked a little more and eventually, Jacob gathered George and his children and found a place to sleep for them. Each got their own little bed, although all three had to share a room. He too got his own bed, separate from George and Jacob truly couldn’t fault anyone for thinking they didn’t want to share, but he crawled into bed with him anyway. Despite how cramped it was, remarking that it reminded him of their shared nights in Crawley before he fell asleep.

It was early morning and just the two of them because George had decided to go right back to sleep once he had seen sunlight in the window much to Jacob’s amusement. Julia and Maxwell were still asleep. Only Rory was with them because she didn’t have a concept of what was too early just yet.

“You didn’t just come here to see me, did you?” Evie asked as she watched Jacob feed Rory little morsels from their breakfast table.

The smile that lingered on his face froze the very instant Evie had spoken, although Jacob tried to keep it up. “Julia wants to see her mother… maybe… she isn’t sure, so I suggested we come visit you instead and when I find her she can decide… I was also kind of hoping you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her and the little ones while I do that.”

Evie’s smile had sunken too. “She’s in Delhi, isn’t she?”

Jacob nodded. “That’s what she told me, but I haven’t been in contact with her so I don’t know if she moved or anything...” Jacob pulled the corner of his mouth up. “I thought you might enjoy the babysitting while I go looking for her with George.”

“I will,” Evie smiled and she seemed to spot something behind him because her face lit up. When he turned his head he there were Anima and George, and in Anima’s arms, there was a little bundle that prompted Evie to get up and coo over it. Before she lifted it from her arms and brought it over to him. “Jacob, Rory, George, meet Mani,” she smiled and brought the little bundle over to Jacob who could now see that it was a very, very tiny baby that she was holding. “Mani, meet the rest of your family,” she whispered and kissed the top of his head.

Raising a brow Jacob questioned her in silence, but couldn’t help but laugh when Evie seemed to consider them even now. “And where exactly did he come from?”

Anima kissed Evie as she handed the little bundle in her arms off to her. “We’ve had an influx of children but no one to care for them, and Evie as you can see, is perfectly enchanted by Mani, how can I say no to a face like that?”

She was. Adorably so, Jacob noticed and smiled at the sight of Evie with that really tiny baby in her arms.

“What are you frowning about?” Evie laughed when she saw his face.

“Well, I’m wondering why he’s so tiny, Julia and Rory were about twice that size...” Jacob shrugged. He wanted to lean against George who had apparently forfeited sleep over his appetite because the first thing he’d done when he had sat down next to him was to start eating. Jacob took the opportunity to hand Rory over to him and properly coo over Mani. It was such a shame that they would have to leave again before their two youngest were old enough to become proper playmates.

Without diverting his attention from the food or Rory George said, “I just told Anima he’s about the size as Evie was when you were born.”

Jacob kept frowning at the little bundle in Evie’s arms. He couldn’t imagine her being that little, he had scarcely been able to imagine them the size of Julia when he had first held her. Or Rory. Or Mani now who was even smaller.

“She was about this big,” George said, capturing their attention again. Both of them smiled awkwardly. “And you were about this big…” Evie was visibly enamoured when the space between George’s hand showed that Jacob had been visibly smaller than her. Not by a lot, just enough to make it notable. “And Nora was making such a fuss she was making me anxious that at least one of you wouldn’t make it… don’t think I ever slept worse in my life...” A lopsided smile crept up his lips. “She insisted that you had to sleep in the same bed… you would hold on so tight to each other that it was almost impossible to separate you.”

 

_Bombay, October 1882_

Jacob had been trying to get a hold of the assassins located in Delhi to find out if they had anyone to spare and help him look for Valérie but so far no luck. But his mind wasn't on Julia now, who hadn't even asked a single question about her mother since they had arrived but on George who has been sleeping through the midday heat and most of the afternoon.

“How long have you been there?” George mumbled into his pillow. Blinking into the afternoon sunlight behind Jacob who had left his children with Evie. Their children. Jacob rubbed his face. It was confusing when he didn't know how George felt about that. But he had never asked. Never felt it was strictly necessary.

“A while...” Jacob answered and leaned down to kiss him. Gentle affection had become easier. Had become welcome. “G'morning sleepyhead.” He watched a smile curl around the corners of George's mouth. He had been waiting for him to wake up with the idea to talk in mind, but right now Jacob didn't particularly care for talking. Or figuring out what exactly they were just so he could give Evie answer to the questions he had barely asked himself. Necessary questions, he knew that, but so easy to forget in a kiss. He had always been able to forget reason way too easily.

Familiarity was guiding his hands beneath clothes and over warm skin. His scars like landmarks by now. Jacob curved into the touch of his calloused hands. Calloused from climbing and the work at the mill and yet so much more gentle than when their affair had begun. Sighing Jacob had allowed George to pull him down and made himself comfortable on top of him.

That really wasn't what he should be doing Jacob thought, but was distracted by teeth nipping on his collarbone. For all the time they had spent together in London it suddenly seemed like they hadn't done an awful lot of talking. The thought settled anxious in his gut and was forgotten moments later all the same because for some reason George knew exactly how to make him forget about that.

In a funny way, everything was as new as exciting as it had become comfortable between them. He had spent so much with his eyes closed and Maxwell in mind, that just the two of them was yet an entirely new experience. They had never had any particularly tender moments. Not like this anyway. Although Jacob remembered George comforting him in the aftermath. But it had been years since then and a couple more since Maxwell hadn't been bothering him anymore. So now that left just George and him. Trying to figure out what they wanted from each other. Or perhaps it was still what it always had been. George allowing him to have his way when he really shouldn't.

They would have plenty of time to themselves while searching for Valérie, but the only other two options he had were to actually talk or to sleep. As he tossed George's shirt over his shoulder he wondered what Evie would say, if she knew. And he thought he knew. It was hard not to assume when they had grown up so close and had spent the better part of their lives together. Some part of him liked the thought of her shocked face if she were to walk in and see him with his head between George's legs. But that thought evaporated with the sounds George made as he nipped on the skin of his thigh.

Evie wouldn't come looking for them for another while. They had time. A rare thing with three children around. And thankfully they were left alone.

It had started to rain again but it was still warm outside. Almost too warm but that mattered to neither of them. But perhaps the ongoing rain and the roar of the thunder would drown out some of the noise the made. The tug of George's hand in his hair tore a groan from his throat, and he willingly followed when the other pulled him back up and into a kiss. Jacob's eyes flickered open to catch a glimpse of his expression. Everything seemed so distant all the way across the ocean. Maxwell and Crawley, even Evie's potential disapproval or what they were supposed to be. Family in some sense. Lovers. Friends. Once a father-figure, but Jacob pushed that thought away as he was pushed down onto the mattress. Most of his clothes gone by that time, but he didn't stop to bother with that, helping to get rid of the rest. Clawing his nails into George's shoulder as he worked him open.

If it hadn't been for Maxwell he wouldn't have him now, Jacob could say that for sure. If it hadn't been for Maxwell his life would have gone a whole lot different. He wouldn't even have Julia. Or perhaps just her. Once he would have closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to face the reality that he couldn't have Maxwell back, and it had been a little awkward at first not to but he didn't even want to anymore. Not if it was possible that George could want him just as much or possibly more. Jacob arched his back. Hips rocking to meet his thrusts.

The thunder was still roaring over their heads when they were catching their breath. The storm would stay for a while, he thought his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Everything had been so damn easy with Maxwell. There had been no need for him to feel sure of anything as long as Maxwell had been sure. But he wasn't so sure about these things when he came to George who seemed to expect a great deal more participation on his part. With a smile he turned his head and returned the kiss, allowing George to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close again.

“You know we have to tell Evie eventually, you know I didn't tell her,” Jacob muttered running his fingers over George's short hair. He'd cut it all off somewhere along their journey and Jacob wasn't so sure if he liked it yet, although it was a much more familiar site to see considering he barely remembered George ever having more than short stubbles on his head. But Jacob liked to run his fingers over them and the scar on the right side of his face. So different from Maxwell's and yet equally fascinating. Despite knowing its origin.

“Do you really want to tell her?” George asked, seeming unperturbed by Jacob's hands on his face. “And I'm not saying this to discourage you, I'm asking if you feel like telling her in the first place.”

“I don't know, I know that she'll figure it out on her own if I don't… I don't even know what I would tell her...” Tell her that he loved him, he thought. That George was family still, just a different type of family. Jacob huffed. “This is so much more complicated… she's just gonna be upset.” Or maybe she wouldn't be, but Jacob wasn't so sure about that.

“Then think a little more and don't tell her just yet, and remember that I love you and I'm on your side.”

Jacob's eyes flicked up to watch the expression on his face as he said that. Soaking up the warmth George's words. Words that he had longed to hear for way too long, not just from him. “You're so lucky father's dead,” he smirked and watched George's expression dissolve into hearty laughter.

“Shut up!” But George grabbed him by the side and pulled him into another kiss. “You're mine, even Ethan couldn't change that,” he muttered against his lips, summoning a grin on Jacob's. “Nor Evie, whether she likes it or not.”

And that was all the comfort he needed for the moment.

It was late at night when he saw Evie again. She had curled up on a pile of pillows, her head resting on her hand but despite that, she seemed asleep. So Jacob contented himself with sitting down next to her. But of course, that woke her despite his best efforts. “You're like a cat,” Jacob smirked and Evie attempted to tiredly shove a pillow in his face. Laughing Jacob grabbed it from her hands and hugged it.

Evie grimaced. “How do you manage to have a life with that many children? I can barely find sleep and I only have one.”

Grinning Jacob sunk into the pillows next to her. “I have awesome babysitters.”

“Hm-mh… who, Ned?” She joked.

“Well… there's George, there's Hiram, Freddy, Ned not so much, Clara and her kids… Lewis… you gotta start assembling them early while they're still cute and tiny, then they will gladly watch over them once they're older and a lot more trouble.” Now it was Evie's turn to laugh and Jacob watched her unable to keep the smile off his face. How many times had they lain in bed together as children talking to each other in the dark of the night long after they were supposed to sleep. Till one of them had been overcome by their own weariness and stopped mid-sentence. “Evie...” She hummed in recognition of her own name. “There's something I need to tell you but I don't really know how so I need some more time to think about it.”

“You're weird...” She smirked. “But fine I won't bug you if anything seems weird now.” There was a pause in her speech. “I don't have any other exciting or tragic stories I didn't tell you about, but I'll let you know if that changes… I'll let you know if Mani ever gets any siblings, but I doubt it.” Her fingers intertwined with his and Jacob squeezed her hand.

“Never say never, I didn't plan on having Max or Rory.”

“Oh you didn't, did you?” Evie smirked, seeming as if she were to fall asleep any moment.

“No, I didn't,” Jacob confirmed and smiled at the sight of her.

“Answer me something, what's up with Maxwell's eyes and why that name of all you could have picked...”

It was a fair question, although he had already answered it to her in writing Jacob didn't mind answering it a second time if she had to read the truth from his expression. Now that Maxwell was older it had become more than apparent that it wasn't the lighting and his eyes were just Like That, but they had never bothered him so Jacob wasn't all too worried about it either. “I don't know they've always been like that, but he seems to see just fine and doesn't seem in pain, so I figure it's fine…” Mrs Nightingale hadn't found anything worrisome about the differently sized pupils or the different coloured eyes and Maxwell was an otherwise perfectly healthy child.

Jacob couldn't help the bittersweet touch the words held as he spoke them and told her more than he had written to her. “Because London deserves to associate something better with Maxwell's name than the ghost that haunts it, and that may be a lot to ask from a child so I won't and maybe they won't ever know he exists, I don't know yet, I'll let him decide when he's older… and for all that he did in the end, he was the one person who appreciated me for who I was when I needed it the most and I wanted that to live on, in a nicer way than the printing the word love with brass knuckles onto somebody's face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I made everything sadder with babies and now I made everything better with babies. It cancels itself out. We now also have all of Jacob's kids. And since it was asked and I forgot to mention it when Maxwell showed up, his name is Scottish and Aurora is a Latin name, like Julia.
> 
> Preview for the 24th:  
> »“You be there or I'm going to drag you here,” Jacob hissed and turned to run and find George on a nearby rooftop before he would forget himself in his anger.«


	19. Family Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie has some concerns in this chapter that she's not sure how to handle right away, but she tries her best. We're still in India but only for this chapter, next one is back in London and Julia finally gets to meet her mother and it goes uhhh.... it goes...

_Delhi, November 1882_

They had gone two days after their birthday, which Jacob had thoroughly enjoyed in the company of his family. All of them. And he hadn't told Evie about George yet, but she had kept her word and hadn't started nagging about whatever it was that seemed to bother him. She had also agreed to keep an eye on his children – their children, he really had to get used to that thought – while Jacob and George searched for Valérie in Delhi.

The trip had taken them almost an entire day so on their first arrival both had merely crashed at the nearest assassin den and slept till late afternoon. One of the local assassins had apologised for not answering to his letters once she had recognised Jacob and continued to explain that several disputes with the local police and Templars had left their numbers scarce. So instead of looking for Valérie Jacob and George had spent a week trying to help the assassins to get back on their legs first.

It was only now that they had been able to dedicate their time to actually finding the mother of his child. Amala had thanked them profusely for their help and Jacob had assured her to notify his sister about their situation once they went back to India. In the meantime, they would do their best to help them not drown under the pressure placed on their shoulders.

Amala had been kind enough to help them single out the areas to search for someone of Valérie's standing. So he and George had been slowly combing their way through them. Each day that passed without a trace of Val Jacob couldn't help but to feel more anxious. He dreaded meeting her as much as he dreaded finding her dead or gone. George tried to ease his worries when Jacob voiced that sentiment to him but with little success.

A wave of relief followed by a wave of anxiety washed over him when he found her at last. “That's her!” He said, immediately drawing George's attention to a blonde woman in a colourful dressed and tan skin despite her sun hat. She had two boys in tow, one around ten, the other maybe two years older but not much more. All three were engaged in lively bird-like chatter that drew a small smile onto Jacob's face. She was just the same after all. In a way that reassuring. In a way, it hurt. But he pushed the confusion that caused aside and took a deep breath.

“Let's watch and wait until you can get a chance to catch her alone,” George voiced his thoughts and Jacob nodded. It would be a long day, he knew. A long painful day of having to watch what she had deprived Julia off. Or perhaps not, for things surely wouldn't have been the same if she had kept her daughter.

It was almost night by the time Jacob caught her on the porch leading to the backyard of her house. Valérie was startled for a moment when he dropped into her field of vision, but then a fond smile crossed her face.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said quietly.

“No, I shouldn't...” Jacob frowned. Inside his chest, his heart fluttered so vigorously he was sure she could hear it. He didn't even want to be here. He didn't want the reminder of how stupid his younger self had been. “I– I don't even… Julia… she wants to see you, maybe...” Jacob managed. He watched her take a seat on the bench on the porch, still frowning at her smile that slowly faded at the realisation of what his words meant.

“You can't bring her here,” Valérie shook her head, “you wouldn't dare to.”

“Oh, I would,” Jacob laughed bitterly, “but you're lucky I wouldn't ever do that to Julia, I'll give you an address and you're going to leave a message there with a time and place where we can meet you, I don't care what you tell your family, I don't care if you want to see her either but you're going to be there for your daughter's sake do you understand me? You owe her that much after the last nearly thirteen years! I'm not going to let you off the hook this time.” His stare was met with hard eyes when he handed her the slip of paper and watched her close a fist around it. “You be there or I'm going to drag you here,” Jacob hissed and turned to run and find George on a nearby rooftop before he would forget himself in his anger.

He didn't expect the hug, but it was welcome and Jacob sank into it with a sigh.

“Do you think she will come?” George asked. They were staying at the assassin den for better or for worse but with their diminished numbers they were left alone for the most part and nobody seemed to care or notice that they shared a sleeping space.

Jacob mumbled something that resembled an “I don't know” into his pillow. “I threatened to drag her to Julia if she doesn't show up so and I reckon she's not stupid enough to make me try, but I don't know,” he said after rolling onto his side and propping his head onto his arm. Thoughtlessly Jacob rolled over again to lie on George and bury his face in his stomach. Giving a happy little hum when George ran his fingers through his hair.

George had been trying to read with little success given all the mumbling Jacob had done in anxious frustration, but it was only now that he put the book aside and dug both hands into Jacob's hair to gain his attention. “You alright?”

“Alright...” Jacob replied in the least convincing manner. “Not alright...” He added after a moment of huffing and silence. “It's just– I wish– I wish I could just take Julia to see her mother, it's unfair and she knows that and I know that, and as much I don't want it to be it's also my fault in some ways for being young and stupid and not hounding Valérie to show some interest in her daughter, still what's done is done and now Julia is the one who's suffering from all of it, and that's in no way fair.”

There was a little smile on George's face when Jacob finally dared to lift his head and look at him while leaning into the touch of his hands. “You're right it's not fair, but don't beat yourself up over it, that's not helping anybody, not you, not Julia, not even her mother…” George paused, his thumb moving over the side of Jacob's face. “You should be proud of yourself, you know that? You raised her all on your own–”

“For the most part,” Jacob mumbled.

George shook his head. “You have a wonderfully talented daughter who's going to become a great assassin one day and it's all your work.” Jacob couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, making him lower his gaze. “Max and Rory too,” George added quietly. “So your doubts can shut up because you've already proven them wrong plenty of times… and even if it doesn't feel like it, but Jack counts too.”

Jacob let himself sink onto his chest again when George kissed his head. “I didn't think you'd agree to let her stay…” He mumbled. Meaning Aurora.

George made a low disgruntled sound and mumbled something along the lines of “excuse you” and “too cute, you with a baby.” And Jacob laughed into his shirt and hugged him.

“You know they won't ever know what it's like not having you… Rory and Max I mean… Julia does, but she's long since considered you family… they're yours as much as mine.”

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. Jacob wanted to say something but the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. He felt George exhale and closed his eyes, anticipating his answer.

“Even Julia?” George asked unexpectedly quiet without taking his hands from Jacob's head.

He couldn't help the grin. Couldn't help but prop himself onto his arms and kiss him out of sheer joy. “Yes, of course, you moron,” Jacob sighed and couldn't wipe the grin from his face. “Of course.” And he kissed him again.

 

_Delhi, December 1882_

They had gone back to Bombay only to grab Julia and be on their way. She hadn't expressed a lot of enthusiasm, more anxiousness about meeting her mother and Jacob had made it clear that she didn't have to see her at all if she didn't want to. If she changed her mind last minute that would fine, she only needed to tell him. Or George. Julia had only nodded, keeping her eyes down with a frown knitting her eyebrows together.

Jacob wouldn't have been surprised if Julia had turned around and ran last minute, but she didn't. She stayed close to Jacob's side, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at George who kept a close eye on them. “I'm nervous...” She announced all flustered. “What if she doesn't like me? What if I don't like her?” Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes and Jacob smoothed the fabric of her shirt over her shoulder. Julia had donned her assassin outfit like armour and folded her arms for extra comfort. “What if she's mean, what if–”

“Shhhh...” Jacob tried to soothe her. “It's going to be alright, I won't leave you alone with her unless you want me to.” Julia swallowed and nodded.

Valérie had chosen an otherwise empty house that looked like it belonged to someone away on business and he would have loved to ask her who it belonged to just to hear her chatter a ridiculously long explanation that he would barely remember half off. But instead, he walked Julia through the spacious living room, rubbing her back as they waited for the lady of the hour.

She arrived in a flurry. A haze, really. Just like Jacob remembered her. But when she spotted them Valérie halted and held her breath. He could practically see her chest stop moving in that very moment.

They shared the same blonde hair and of course, Julia knew that, of course, Jacob had told her about the ways she resembled her mother when she had asked, but seeing was different of course. Every possible human emotion seemed to wash over Julia's face when she saw her mother and Jacob squeezed her shoulder to assure her of his presence. She trembled then took the tiniest step forward, while she watched Valérie approach.

Jacob watched her mother swallow. Surely it wasn't what she might have expected, but he had told Julia to wear whatever she was the most comfortable with and while she adored all her dresses they weren't as good for climbing and playing and roughhousing with the other children. She had tied her hair into braids and tied them up for convenience's sake. Her clothes were reminiscent of London, of her home, although Jacob had made her pick much lighter fabric so the heat would be bearable.

“Mum…?” Julia tried for a smile but it was as shaky as her voice.

“I'm so happy you finally want to see me, sweetheart.” Something coiled uncomfortably in his gut when she said that, but he resorted to simply frowning at Valérie.

But for all that Jacob had previously worried Julia now proved that he didn't have to. “I wanted to see you since I was two!” She snapped, stomping her foot and thumping balled fists into the air beneath them. “You weren't there, where the bloody hell were you?” Julia roared with all of her twelve-year-old might, all anxiousness suddenly forgotten.

“I–” Valérie faltered. “I'm sure your father told you...”

“Yes, that you married someone else and didn't even once come to see me!” Julia's jaw quivered and she scowled at her mother. “I was so lonely...” She shook Jacob's hand off her shoulder and stomped again. This time a decisive step towards her mother. But for all her surliness the quiver in her voice betrayed her as much as the tears in her eyes. “I needed you, where were you when I was scared and papa was busy, where were you when Jack found me and almost… almost...” She choked on her own words. Furious about that Julia hurled a vase to the floor that Jacob was sure wouldn't be easy to replace, but he didn't stop her. “I hate you! For leaving me, just like that! Did you even want me, did you think I wouldn't mind?” She smashed a picture frame and ground it beneath her heel. “What makes you think you can just turn up after nine years and disappear to India, were you scared I'd turn up on your doorstep one day and ruin your picture-perfect life?” Julia spat before her feet and hurled a book at nothing in particular.

When Jacob attempted to reach out and comfort her, Julia's glare turned towards him. “No!” She hissed. Shoulders trembling with anger as much as sadness. “Where the bloody hell were you, why did you have to care for Jack so much, why couldn't you just leave him?! I was so scared you wouldn't come back one day, I was scared the ship would sink when you went to see aunt Evie, I wanted you to take me with you, you have no idea how lonely I was, I hate you too...” Having exhausted her anger Julia gasped in an attempt to regain her breath but all she did was sob. “No, I don't… I…” Another sob and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Quiet and careful Jacob approached her as she sank to the ground, face covered with her hands. This time she didn't slap his hand away, she didn't refuse the hug he gave her either.

Her anger, her crying felt like the relief of a long-anticipated wave. “I'm sorry,” Jacob whispered and kissed her head. “I'm so sorry… it's okay, you're allowed to hate me for that, I don't think I did a fantastic job there either...” Julia didn't respond other than that she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. He held her till the tears had ebbed and Julia managed to stand up again, clearing some invisible dust off of her clothes. Slowly Jacob followed her example, tentatively setting his hand on her shoulder again. If nothing else he wanted her to know he would be there if she needed him.

“Don't ever say again I didn't want you in my life,” she said coolly. As cool as it was possible after just having cried your eyes out. “Don't!” Julia repeated balling her hands into fists again when Valérie attempted to open her mouth. “You can't say that.” Miraculously Valérie's mouth closed again and silence settled over them. Julia sneered. “Don't you have anything to say for yourself? Anything else?”

“I'm sorry...” It came very quietly from Valérie's lips while Jacob watched for any hint of a lie.

“Are you?” Julia replied coolly. “Because I'm your daughter and if you are, you're going to introduce me to the rest of your family as exactly that. I'm sick and tired of being hidden away, either you'll make me part of your family or I want _nothing_ to do with you!”

Valérie swallowed visibly, folding her arms now. “I… I'll have to think about that,” she replied, knitting her brows together.

“No, you don't.” Julia shook her head. “It's simple, really, I've been thinking about this ever since we were on our way to India, you're my mother, everyone can see that, if you can't admit that then I don't want to be a part of your life, I'm not… a trophy or a toy, you can't throw me away whenever you've had enough or I don't fit into your life.” Silence again. Julia raised a brow. “Well?!” She snapped.

“Julia, darling I can't give you an answer to this right now, you have to understand–”

“Don't call me darling and I have to understand nothing,” Julia shot back and raised her chin. “I want to go now,” she added more quietly and swallowed, but didn't directly look at Jacob so she didn't see him nod. But she did follow when Jacob gently pressed his hand against her back to silently usher her out of the room while his eyes remained focused on Valérie for another moment or two. She looked so lost and in this very moment, she didn't resemble the girl he had adored so much at all anymore.

“Just… leave me alone for a while, will you?” Julia requested on their back to the assassin den. “I won't run off, I just… need to blow off some steam… and think, maybe.”

So Jacob left her to her own devices once they reached their hideout and spent the rest of the day with George and some of the other assassins. Trying not to hover over his daughter to give her some space.

She requested to see George first and that made him a little anxious but he tried to occupy himself with playing cards and not eavesdrop on their conversation later that evening. When he returned George kissed him and told him not worry with a kind smile, but Jacob only frowned wondering how he could say that when there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't worry about her or their other children.

Julia was sitting on her bed, knees tucked in under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. She had crossed them at the ankles and barely acknowledged his presence. But Jacob tried not to think any of it and instead sat down on the edge of her bed. “How are you?” He asked quietly.

“Dunno,” Julia mumbled and sniffed quietly. She remained quiet for another while before saying. “I don't hate you… not really, I mean do hate that you made time for Jack when it should have been me, but I don't want to hate you… I don't want a mum who doesn't care about me… I… I don't know, it's all upsetting and confusing and I don't know what to do… or what to feel, I wish we'd never come here but I'm glad we did.” Rubbing her eyes Julia untangled herself enough to sit cross-legged. “I just don't know...” She admitted her defeat and when Jacob reached out his hand to place in comfort on her knee she grabbed for it and squeezed it.

“That's all right,” he replied just as quiet as she had spoken. “You don't have to have that all figured out just yet, or ever, nobody's going to force you, all I want from you is to think about what you think is the best for you in this situation.” Again Julia objected with a weak shake of her head, “but I don't know that”, but Jacob only smiled softly and squeezed her hand. “Just take your time and figure it out, and when you do we'll see what we can do to make it possible for you.” This time Julia smiled too, albeit weakly.

 

_Bombay, January 1883_

They had barely made it back to Evie in time for the end the year that wasn't celebrated so it passed by so quietly that Jacob barely noticed it was already January.

Perhaps if Evie hadn't been busy with organising proper assistance for the Assassins in Delhi and little Mani she would have approached him sooner. Or perhaps she simply hadn't known how. The only thing that Jacob knew was that he would never know why she had waited these few weeks to approach them.

She had practically cornered him and George and scowled at them till she was sure they wouldn't move. “I would have preferred not to find out through your daughter about whatever it is you two have going on,” she said quite dryly and gestured at the space between them.

Jacob shared a glance with George and swallowed. “Well...” Which was all she let him get out. Julia was about the only one who really had a concept of their relationship, Maxwell was clever but it was only starting to make sense to him now and Rory could barely speak to begin with, but Jacob was forced to drop that when Evie spoke again. “I wanted to tell you...” He mumbled.

“Why didn't you?” Evie frowned. “I would have preferred to hear that from you and not... Julia." She sighed in frustration, closing her eyes as she did so. "We need to talk about this, _I_ need to talk about this!" Her eyes were now clearly focused on George, piercing right through him. Evidently, she had expected better from him and if it were a different situation that realisation might have even been funny to Jacob. Evie sighed again, shifting her gaze back to Jacob suddenly looking very tired, “I honestly don't know what the bloody hell I expected, but it sure as hell wasn't to find you shagging father's best mate.”

Jacob pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a moment as a sigh slipped past his lips. “I wanted to tell you, I said give me some time, and you agreed.” Her face that she clearly wouldn't have if she had known that this was what he meant to talk about with her.

“Well times up, I know and we're going to talk about this now,” Evie shot back and then paused, trying to gather herself. “I… listen, I'm not going to crucify anyone, but I need some answers and time to process this because I honestly don't know what to think.” She frowned at George again, as if it was all his fault when that really couldn't be said. If anything Jacob figured, it was his fault and his fault alone. Or maybe she just didn't know what to make of the fact that George hadn't been the more reasonable one out of the two.

He watched her, wondering if she was trying to or recalling all the moments which had given them away in retrospect, while Jacob folded his arms and leaned a little towards George when he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What sort of answers?” Jacob heard him ask. Closing his eyes he thought back to their first night back in Crawley. How stupid and how hurt and how young he'd been. It didn't compare to now. Were it the fears she should have reserved for Maxwell that bubbled up now? There was nothing to fear from George for anyone and Evie of all people should know that.

“You're right, we should have told you – not her,” George added when she kept her stare fixed on him. “You can scowl all you want, I'm not leaving.” She mumbled something about not scowling and rubbed the space above the bridge of her nose in an attempt to get rid of it.

Jacob had thought about what he wanted to tell her for longer than he wanted to admit right now, he'd thought about what she should have told her when they had been twenty, he'd thought about all her possible reactions. “I know… I should have told you, I know this wasn't the right way for you to find out, I know that you're worried but if you let me I'll show you there's nothing to worry about it, I'm not asking you to jump for joy, but fact is that I love him and you can fight me over this, or we can figure out how to make this work for everyone, because I'd much more prefer to have you in my life than the other way around.”

Evie had been rubbing her forehead and nodding quietly. “I don't know what to say.” She admitted. “I need to think… I…” Her expression softened when her eyes caught Jacob's silently asking if it was what he wanted and if he was sure of himself.

“Very sure,” Jacob replied quietly and nodded slightly, and then a little smile appeared on Evie's face.

None of them would ever know how their conversation might have gone on or not because Julia poked her head through the door and slunk inside. “I know you're having some important adult talk or something,” she said, slowly making her way around Evie who was greeted with a smile and towards Jacob. “Don't worry I left Max and Rory with the nice ladies downstairs who're giving everyone henna tattoos,” she said with a smile that couldn't hide her genuine joy as she showed off her decorated forearms. The paint was dry but hadn't been washed off yet to reveal the print underneath. Chewing on her lip Julia glanced at George then back at Jacob. “They said I could dye my hair if I wanted to… but they also said I should probably ask first.” Julia tried her most adorable smile. “They said I can have my hair like Rory's.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke.

“Don't like being blonde?” Jacob replied understanding and watched her shake her head in what appeared to be agreement. A little smile curved around the corner of his mouth. “I don't see why not.” He glanced at George who showed no open disapproval and Julia beamed. “Go on, I don't mind, but it's nice that you gave me a warning.” Jacob encouraged her with a smile and Julia skipped back downstairs.

George smirked when she was gone and Jacob made a questioning sound. “You know she probably wants to look more like you and the rest her of her family right now, do you?” He explained.

Evie frowned. “Did it go that bad with her mother?”

The face George pulled would have been answer enough for her, but he added anyway, “has a temper that lives up to her father's without doubt.”

Somehow that made Evie smile a little, and Jacob tried to elbow him in the most friendly manner into the side. “That wasn't a complaint,” George assured him and Jacob rolled his eyes with a huff.

Julia had dyed her hair a dark shade of auburn to match Rory's and let some of the women braid it after it had been dried and brushed. She now wore it loosely hanging over one of her shoulders, while she studied what Jacob recognised as a book meaning to teach Indian. She had made herself comfortable in a pile of pillows when he approached her and for now, sat down opposite to her.

“You alright?” Jacob asked quietly, waiting patiently for Julia to turn the page, mark it and close the book.

“Better...” She admitted with a little smile but kept her eyes focused on the book in her lap except for one brief instance where she glanced up at him. “I don't know what I thought… I guess… I don't know, that she'd be happy to see me… makes me feel so stupid.” Julia clutched her book and pressed her lips together.

With a little sigh, Jacob reached out a hand, palm up top for Julia to place her own in his. “I'll tell you something about feeling stupid,” he said and squeezed her knee when Julia didn't let go of her book. “Everybody does… and it's alright, you wanted to believe in something better and that's never wrong.”

“Even you?” Julia asked sceptically, now looking up again.

“Even me,” Jacob laughed quietly.

“When was the last time you felt really stupid?” She asked, now relaxing a little into the pillows and when she stretched out her legs Jacob rubbed her shin in comfort.

Maxwell. That was the first thing he thought of involuntarily. As if it had been ingrained into his conscious and Jacob couldn't help the bitter smile that graced his lips. Then he thought of George and all their moments together before he had dragged him to London. How stupid and foolish he had been to think he could pretend to have Maxwell back that way. But what he said almost inaudibly, at last, was, “Jack… the day that I found him in...” Maxwell's flat, but he couldn't say that, “and Nitya on the floor and all that blood, I was so scared he'd hurt you and I felt so stupid for thinking I could play that charade forever and ever, I had always known he'd find out someday, I just always hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon, but I was scared of what he'd do if he found you and I was scared of what he'd do when I wasn't watching and it wasn't fair what had happened to him and it wasn't fair that I had to leave you because I thought it would keep you safe...”

As discreet as humanly possible Julia tried to dry the tears from the corners of her eyes. Her face had become a little more pale than usual but she didn't withdraw her legs and curl up into a ball again.

“All that made me feel really stupid because I thought if I had done something sooner none of it would have happened… ultimately I'm not ever going to find out, but that doesn't keep the thought from nagging.”

“I get it,” Julia mumbled, drawing one of her legs close. “I mean I don't, just kinda, when he was there all of a sudden, yelling at me, so furiously, I was so scared I didn't know what to do, I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I was so glad Nitya was there, but when he…” Julia's speech faltered as if she had trouble breathing and she swallowed. “I was scared he'd kill you too when you showed up, and then I was so glad that you hurt him instead… I didn't know seeing somebody hurt could make you feel that way, I was scared he'd come back all the time, hurt you, hurt Max, hurt me...” She shook her head and buried it in her arms folded over her knee. “I still am sometimes...”

“It comes in waves...” Jacob added, trying to find the words she didn't seem to have and Julia nodded.

“I wish you had been there… more often… I wish you had killed him, I wish Nitya was still here and that Jack wouldn't make me wish for all these ugly things, but I hate him, I hate him and I hate that you care about him, I don't understand it...” Julia complained in her tired and saddened frustration. “How long are we going to stay here?” She was now frowning at him and all Jacob wanted to do was hug her.

“Some more months, I haven't seen Evie in forever and I really missed her, but we don't ever have to go back to your mother if you don't want to,” Jacob assured her. “C'mere...”

Julia only nodded and eventually crawled close enough to lean against his side when Jacob offered her his open arms. But that was alright too. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back. “Tell me a story, you know The One.”

Bitter Jacob smiled. He couldn't help it every once in a while when she brought it up. But he wasn't about to deny Julia her wish because she loved it so much and there was some peace to be gained from the fact that his and Maxwell's story could bring joy after all.“Alright, do you remember where we left off?” He asked softly and felt her nod against his shoulder. Then she mumbled something about a triple theft and Jacob's smile brightened up a little. He did have fond memories of that endeavour.

“That's right, the triple theft, the evil Grand Master's henchmen have to die… who's the first one?”

Jacob could practically hear her roll her eyes as Julia said with a smile, “the artist, of course, the one with the pretty bow in her hair.”

An agreeing hum passed his lips. “One day the assassin went to meet the blighter who had come up with another scheme for them, three of the Grand Master's henchmen were about to disappear… yet this time he wanted to share the assassins glory and went along with him, first on their list was an artist, a woman who used her skills to finance the Grand Master's enterprise by selling her works, she made statues and paintings, but he had her working underground in the sewers and neither her nor the assassin were particularly fond her working conditions, trust me if you ever have to investigate a sewer you're gonna know why,” Jacob added with a smirk and watched the corners of her mouth quirk up for the barest moment.

“But she didn't expect it to the gang leader of the blighters who wanted a word with her instead of the Grand Master, so she threatened him but the blighter only laughed and told her he would be looking forward to it, so she was locked in the back of their carriage and they moved on to the park, where the head of the Grand Master's security dwelt, a well-guarded man but no match for the assassin who had no trouble escorting him unseen back to their carriage, he was the only one who would ever guess right who awaited him there… the man who had trained him, the man everyone feared...”

“Just not the assassin,” Julia muttered under her breath and Jacob agreed smiling.

“So the head of security told the gang leader of the blighters to go to hell and he was locked in the back of the carriage as well,” Jacob continued. This part of the story wasn't the hard part. It was, in all honesty, one of the days he liked to remember. Kidnapping Maxwell's targets had been a great deal of fun. “The only one left on their list was a policeman, a copper by day and snitch by night, exceptionally good at what he did and the only reason he would die later that day was, because the gang leader of the Blighters was the very man who had introduced him to the Grand Master… and stunned he looked at the blighter, but he was also locked in the back.” Jacob paused for a moment, gathered his thoughts. “All three henchmen had been collected so the assassin was tasked to drive them to a nearby river where they were marched onto a boat held at gunpoint and never to be seen again...”

“And later she got three rewards for her good efforts,” Julia announced with half a grin. “The artists pretty bow, the security chief's watch and the policeman's badge!”

Returning her grin Jacob nodded. “Exactly, just not the same day because both of them were busy with other things for the rest of it.”

Perhaps he would have continued if he hadn't noticed Evie out of the corner of his eye, perhaps he would told Julia to try and sleep anyway because he could only ever tell Maxwell's story in parts. Else it overcame him and she would figure out that it wasn't just a story.

“What was that all about?” Evie asked her arms akimbo and with a frown on her forehead once Julia had more or less willingly left to bug either George or actually go to bed because it was getting late and she had seemed tired.

Jacob paused. Considering to lie for a very brief moment, but instead he replied, “Hattie Cadwallader, Benjamin Raffles, Chester Swinebourne.” When Evie only scrutinised him for it Jacob added, “hey it's not my bloody fault she actually likes the story.”

“Is that really how it happened?” Evie questioned, folding her arms but seemingly not to judge.

Jacob shrugged. More or less the gesture said. “He told me to be careful because Miss Cadwallader tends to poison future sales if a deal falls through, and to watch out because Raffles never went anywhere without his guards...” A little laugh escaped his throat. “We both simply agreed that we didn't like coppers at Scotland Yard.”

Evie didn't reply. She only shook her head but there was a little smile on her lips as she did so and sat by his side. “That is not what I'm here about anyway.” And Jacob quietly asked her “is it?” by raising a brow, to which Evie replied with an expression that ought to tell he would know why she was here.

Rolling his eyes Jacob groaned quietly. “George...” He muttered, and then, “fine, ask away.”

And fine it was for her it seemed because Evie nodded decidedly and made herself comfortable with her legs crossed. “George's busy so I reckon you can answer my questions just fine, but I will put the screws on him, Jacob.” She paused, gathering her thoughts and words. “Now, honestly, how long has this been going on?”

“I'm going to tell you what I would have told if you had ever asked me this question about Maxwell which is that there are an honest answer and one that you'll be able to deal with...”

“Jacob!” Evie insisted exasperated.

“Fine,” Jacob couldn't help the laugh. “Don't say I didn't warn you...” But her face was only a scowl when he offered his palms for her to take, and Jacob ultimately grabbed her hands and cleared his throat. “Well… if I'm being honest, sort of since we went to Crawley after Starrick's death.” On her face, he could see the wish for him to be joking, but since he wasn't that realisation slowly began sinking in when he continued.

“Don't look at me like that, Evie, I was hurt, I was confused, I killed the man I loved and I just needed something to hook… I guess I thought George was better than some random stranger, I didn't even think I'd get anywhere, but I was wrong and well, I'm not sure how that landed me here but it did...” Jacob hadn't realised that his gaze had dropped to their hands until now, but he could feel Evie's stare on him. Felt it boring holes into him. “All I wanted, as stupid as that sounds, was to have not killed Maxwell, even though I knew I had done the right thing, all I wanted was to have him back and I couldn't tell you how much that hurt and I couldn't sleep, I thought… he'd just make me sleep on the couch and I could go back home feeling mildly embarrassed over my failure and never think about it again, but… well, I'm going to tell you what I was told and that was apparently George figured the best way to make me feel any better was to go along with whatever stupid plan I had come up with.”

Evie grimaced, but then grabbed for his hand again. “I would have preferred if you had told me.”

“I know...” Jacob breathed rubbing his thumbs across the back of her hands. “I know...”

“Are you happy?” It was an odd question, one they hadn't ever asked on purpose like this, but Jacob could see the gears turning in her head. Her thoughts on wobbly legs across uneven ground. It was a question that needed desperate answering for her to feel at ease.

“Yes, of course,” Jacob smirked and pulled her in for a hug and to kiss her head. “Silly sister… don't be too hard on him...”

“Perhaps...” She mused, but wrapped her arms around his body and held on tight. Their hugs had become like that ever since she had left. As if they had to make sure to make it count in case they wouldn't get to see each other the following days and months and years.

“How's your side? Still hurting?” Jacob asked, gently smoothing the fabric over her injury. But Evie only shook her head and mumbled something about “just sometimes.”

“Why him, Jacob? I mean of all people George…” They hadn't ever gotten along particularly well either. Until after Starrick's death when Jacob had sought his company, but even then it had been a rocky relationship when they had been together.

Jacob closed his eyes and sighed. Sighed deeply, staring into the light that had grown dim outside. “As weird as it may sound, but I haven't felt this safe in years… I don't constantly worry about Jack or my children, I feel… wanted, loved, he just kind of accepted that Rory migrated into our lives,” Jacob laughed quietly. “Well, he made a bit of a fuss… just a bit, Evie I didn't think I would ever get over Maxwell…” When he looked at her, Jacob thought she understood.

 

_Bombay, February 1883_

He couldn't have been asleep for long. Half an hour perhaps. Maybe two. It was hard to tell, but it had become darker outside. Julia was thirteen now and while she missed London she had enjoyed her birthday just as much. What stirred him was the sound of Evie's voice or perhaps her sitting down on the bed. Or perhaps it were George's lazy fingers entangled in his hair, slowly carding through it.

There was silence for a long while and Jacob had no particular interest in opening his eyes, so he merely nuzzled into his ribcage and pretended to be asleep. What usually might have gotten him a kiss or attention otherwise now went apparently unnoticed. They were likely staring at each other.

Eventually, Evie sighed and muttered something incomprehensible.

“Say it,” he could hear the smirk in George's voice. Evie didn't say anything. “You expected better?”

“Well, I didn't expect–”

“Makes two of us, but here we are now.” George shifted his weight under him, forcing Jacob to accept his new fate staying curled up at his side. “You're worried, I get it, I would be too in your position.”

There was silence for a long while again. “How did _that_ happen?” Evie asked, tentatively, while Jacob wondered whatever the hell _that_ was.

“Jack,” George replied within the same breath. They were talking his scar then. Jacob still remembered the way his heart had skipped a beat when he had found him. How scared he had been, and then the relief. How his kiss had tasted of blood.

He thought he could hear her mumble something about “weird taste” and his own name. George snorted amused in response. “You know you don't have to work like this, we have a library and enough empty places to study and read...”

Jacob could feel her eyes on him when George replied. “And Jacob would inevitably follow me and fall asleep where people trip over him, at least this way I don't have to convince him to go back to bed.” Evie laughed quietly. “It's nicer this way…”

Another pause on Evie's side. “And this is not at all weird to you?”

Another pause on George's side. “I think we've been past weird for a long time…” Another pause. “He was so scared when Jack killed Nitya, you should have been there, I don't think he wanted to go back to London… I don't know how I earned his trust, but I know that you two should have an honest talk about your father.”

Jacob couldn't help but to swallow. 

“Why is that? Aside from the obvious,” Evie replied but George only told her to ask him. But there was no answer to her question, no vocal one at least so Jacob had to guess George conveyed it some other way. “I think I can get used to this… just give it some time to grow into normal, I do want to know one thing though.”

“And that would be?”

“Why exactly did you think going along with my brother's stupid idea was the logical conclusion? That doesn't seem like you… granted _this_ doesn't seem like you either...” Jacob could hear the frown in her voice, knowing that she must have been trying to gesture around the whole situation. As if she was able to encompass it with a wave of her hand.

George snorted, and Jacob wanted to grab his hand but he kept himself from it. It would have only given him away. “We all have something that's eating at us when we can't sleep at night, I don't consider it strange to indulge in distractions… but I'll be honest, I really didn't know how else to fix the hurt, so I let him have what he wanted because you don't argue with hurt.”

This time Jacob couldn't keep himself from hugging George a little tighter and burying his face a little deeper, while George's hand scratched the back of his neck and he buried his fingers in Jacob's hair. As if to reassure him there was nothing that could hurt him.

“You just don't Evie, and I know what I should have done, but I didn't and I'm not going to make him or myself suffer for it.”

It took a while after that for their conversation to end and for Evie to leave but when she finally did Jacob blinked his eyes open. There was no teasing or snarky remark about him being awake, only George's hand in his hair that drew quiet, comfortable sounds from his throat. He wanted to ask something, but saying it out loud would have been too awkward. Too sweet a request. So he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for the 3rd:  
> »Stupid Ethan.«


	20. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the last chapter, posting this feels weird. It is a George chapter. And a Cecily chapter. And some Jacob too because there is one last thing regarding Maxwell that has to be addressed.

_London, June 1883_

They had left India at the end of spring to return in time for summer, but Jacob hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that something was off ever since they had set foot back in London. George shared his sentiment, but it wasn't until he had talked to Freddy that his suspicion had been confirmed.

Much to Jacob's demise Jack had succeeded in turning a rather large portion of the Rooks against him, as well as assimilating the leftover Blighters into his fold, attempting to take over Robert's fight clubs when nobody was looking and causing nothing but trouble for the police. Freddy had agreed with him that the fight clubs, albeit unwanted as much as the races were ultimately in much better hands when in their former owner's, so Jacob had promised to help take them down and return them to their former state. All the while he had to convince Rob of finding a new source of income. Else Jack would dispose of him.

With Jack around returning the fight clubs and race tracks to him really was only a temporary solution. Even Jacob could see that without anyone reminding him of it, even though George did. They would eventually have to close them down, just not right now. It would only make it seem like Jack had won and Jacob wasn't willing to give him that victory so soon.

“What's wrong? Tell me,” Julia asked on their way home. Jacob had picked her up from her training, and for a while, she had been content with telling him about what she had been up to half the day. But of course, she had to ask. Julia had always been good at picking up when something was wrong. “Is it Jack?” She asked and when Jacob hesitated for even a moment her expression became grim. “It _is_ Jack,” she concluded.

“The streets have ears,” Jacob replied with half a smile as she linked arms with him. “You can see them don't you.”

Pausing Julia turned her head to look at the surrounding buildings and streets. “Yes,” she mumbled and kept quiet for the rest of the way.

He had been so busy with the police and his own work that she had fallen short. Again. Jacob still hated when that happened, no matter how old she was. Still, the first thing she did was run to where Maxwell was and show him the bruises on her arms and legs she had gained while climbing and fighting. Quiet and bookish as he was Maxwell made an excellent play companion for Rory who was still too little to join her older siblings in their shenanigans.

Julia sat down at the kitchen table waiting for him to turn his attention towards her and away from George, who all three children had decided was the better cook and through that responsible for feeding them. Jacob hadn't disagreed if anything he found it quite charming on their part. And if Julia hadn't sat down already, he would have asked her to do so now.

“Jack… has had some unquestionable but unfortunate success in turning my gang against me,” Jacob told her when he turned away from George and towards her. Unwilling to part with his source of attention entirely though, for there was comfort in not being on his own right now.

“And that's why I'm supposed to stay away from the Rooks...” Julia concluded, much more serious than she should have been at thirteen.

Jacob nodded. Clara had confirmed his suspicion as much as Freddy, but with her on board he worried a little less about the safety of the children of Babylon Alley. Besides, Jack held no interest in going against children now that he wasn't one anymore. Not the young ones at least. “I'm not sure if I _can_ reverse the damage he's done, but I will try…” Jacob said and walked over to sit with her. “Will you help me keep your siblings safe?” He asked a smile played around his lips, while he didn't want it to make as big a responsibility as he knew it would be, he knew she wouldn't want to sit around idly either. Even if he wouldn't ever let Julia carry it on her own. She was still young and it was a big task.

“I miss Nitya,” she said quietly, staring into the cup George placed in front of her. Without giving an answer to his question. Jacob figured this was enough of an answer anyway.

“I know,” Jacob replied just as quiet. “Me too...”

“I think Jack followed her, I uhm… I'm not sure how, but I thought I could see him… down the stairs, same way I can tell Rooks aren't good anymore.” Julia frowned into her cup, then looked up at them, helplessly. “Does that make sense?”

“It means you have a very special gift,” George replied without turning his attention away from their dinner and before Jacob could even get a word out. “If you work on it and train a lot, it can become a useful tool for you when you're older.”

“How do you know all that?” Julia frowned, sipping on her tea, looking glad for the distraction and somewhat fascinated with it already.

“Every assassin knows that,” George replied nonchalantly and momentarily turned to ruffle Jacob's hair, “but your father has the same ability and so does your aunt, but he's better at it from what I've been told.” Julia's eyes glimmered when George leaned down to kiss the side of his face and Jacob couldn't help the grin.

As much as Jacob would have liked to elaborate on it, the question he asked Julia was another. It was the first time since Nitya's death that she had said more than one sentence about it. “Do you want to talk about what else happened?”

Julia's expression collapsed. All the wonder gone within an instant. She breathed a shaky breath and then nodded carefully. “He had a knife… Nitya tried to protect me, she did but only once, then you showed up...” She dried the tears from the corners of her eyes and took a deep breath. “That's all really, I was just… glad that it was over, but I know it's not over till he's dead, you're always going to be worried and I don't want you to be… I don't want him to but he scares me.” Her face was now bitter and hard. “I hated the nightmares, I didn't want him in my dreams… I don't remember the last time I dreamt… I'm so tired.” This time she couldn't stop the tears. “Why don't you just kill him? Or just put him on a boat at least – somewhere far away so he's not our problem anymore, I swear I'll kill him if you don't, as soon as I'm strong enough I will.”

Against her expectations, Jacob didn't have any answers for her this time, only a comforting hand that rubbed her shoulder. But the one thing that remained clear from their conversation was, how there was essentially no other than him to teach her how to properly use her eagle vision. His own father had tried to teach Evie and him with the help of books and no practical understanding of their experience. Julia, for all that he could tell, seemed genuinely excited about getting to hog him for a few hours or so every so often.

 

_London, September 1885_

“Dear.” It was a stupid little word and judging by the expression on George's face as much of an endearment as it was meant to tease him. But Jacob had only smirked and averted his eyes. He couldn't help it. “You haven't answered,” George added.

“I don't know, a day off from all my problems?”

George laughed. “Tough luck, assassin's don't get that.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. He couldn't really think of anything that he wanted. Except, a few stupid things. Except, one thing right now. And it was stupidly sweet so he didn't want to ask for it.

“What?” George's expression asked with raised eyebrows and a wave of his right hand because he could see that something was on his mind.

“You could… say that again...” Jacob answered quietly. He felt weary, wondering how George could be so awake at this time at night. As if the night air fuelled him. Jack was brewing something, Jacob was sure of it, but their little investigation had turned up fruitless. But somehow it had eased all his anxiety when George had called him, “my dear Jacob.”

“Dear?” George asked, seemingly amused when he caught on to Jacob's train of thought. “Darling? … I didn't think you'd like that.”

Jacob snorted. “I would have sucker punched you if you had tried that way back in Crawley, but… Maxwell used to call me that, all the time,” he laughed, “I kind of miss it, no don't say anything this is already embarrassing.”

“It's sweet,” George replied, smiling and shrugged. “Jacob, darling...” He said, testing the words out, assessing Jacob's reaction that was somewhere between unexpected whiplash and pleasant surprise. “I could get used to that.”

 

_Crawley, April 1847_

Ethan liked to jump into action and as much as George enjoyed their sparring matches, he liked the quiet moments he could spend with Cecily a little better. He didn't mind reading all the books she gave him, but he preferred to hear her tell the stories. A safe way to enjoy her enchanting voice when she went off on a tangent because one of his questions distracted her. She had taken him outside to enjoy the sun which had been scarce this month and they had found a dry place to sit on the front porch because the grass hadn't dried yet on her favourite spot under the old oak. Now she just stared at it with sullen eyes.

“It'll be summer soon,” George reminded her and tapped the book she was holding to gain her attention.

Cecily smirked and stretched her limbs before she made herself comfortable with crossed legs. “Don't remind me, I know I'll have more than enough time on my hands to sit around and read when summer comes.” Most friendly, she glared at him, then grinned and skipped through the chapters till she found the one she had bookmarked.

“What do you mean?” He asked, unable not to stare a little.

“Ethan didn't tell you?” She laughed. “Oh well, I suppose the council's been sending him all over the place, I shouldn't be surprised.”

“Surprised by what?” George frowned, averting his eyes. He couldn't help but to stare, and then he couldn't help but to wonder and then he had to look away. It was always the same with them. He couldn't help but wonder what Ethan had been meant to tell him too.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Cecily straighten herself and take a breath. The smile lingered on her lips. “I'm pregnant, we're going to have a baby… a little baby assassin.”

He could have kissed her precious face, but he didn't. Instead, he stared at her again. Dumbfound, a little incredulous, then something that he had to fight down and that made her frown flickered over his face, eventually, George forced a smile. Because he was happy. There was no reason for him not to be. “That's wonderful, Lily!” George smiled when she wasn't able to contain her own joy and hugged him. “That's really wonderful...” He repeated, dazed by her scent and careful not to hug her too hard. Although she had no qualms in that aspect.

George tried to take a breath when she let go, but it felt like a string had been wrapped around his lungs and each time they moved it was pulled tighter. His thoughts didn't really go there. Not ever. It only made him jealous. And it made him want to drink and do something incredibly stupid. And he barely knew how to handle the accelerated heart rate both of them caused in him. Or Ethan's playful banter when they sparred. Or Cecily, bouncy as she was. And that he had to hide, hide, hide all of that. Biting his lip, hands curled into fists and eyes cast downward concentrating on the ground beneath his feet and the way the wind tugged at his clothes and hair, the rise and fall of his chest till he felt grounded again.

They weren't his. They would never be his. He couldn't ever tell them. He didn't want to lose them. They were going to have a child. There was no room for him in their relationship and there was nothing he could do about it now. A hard truth that George hated to accept.

“What it is?” He asked when Cecily instead of starting her lesson or reminding him to stay in the present seemed to tense. 

Her fingers curled around the book she held, but she smiled when she shook her head and said. “I'm scared, just a little, I don't want to be… and for the love of God, don't tell Eth he's going to blow it out of proportion before you know it… feels good to say it though.”

“What are you scared of?” George asked, leaning back. He wanted to look at her, but also he didn't want to look at her. So he stared at the wooden ceiling of the terrace.

“Everything? I don't know, I'm going to have a tiny human that's going to be entirely dependent on me and that looks like a big, scary responsibility I'm going to have in my life from now on, does that sound weird?”

With a snort George shook his head. “Not at all actually...”

“You'll have to visit...” Cecily added after a moment of silence. “You have to,” she insisted when he caught her gaze from the corner of his eye. Straining to keep his gaze on the ceiling now. Furrowing his brows as he did so. “Otherwise I won't let you leave, I bet you'd make a good uncle... spoiling my little darling rotten.” Both of them were laughing even before she had finished her sentence. 

“You're only saying this so you can complain to me about it,” George replied and shook his head.

“Maybe...” Cecily laughed and sunk back into the bench they were sitting on. “I've talked with the council yesterday, they said they're willing to let you go if you stay at least till the child is born since I won't be available for some time then and that kind of leaves a vacancy and they need the time to fill it, yadda yadda yadda...” Cecily waved her hand dismissively.

“I think I can do that,” George smirked. “That's what another six months?”

“More or less,” Cecily agreed, smiling now.

 

_Crawley, June 1847_

Cecily hated being cooped up inside. One would have thought for someone like her who enjoyed stories and research just as much as field training it would be bearable but whenever Ethan wasn't around George had to be to keep her complacent.

Needless to say, he wasn't surprised to see her almost jumping up from where she had been sitting on the couch to meet him halfway. Without a word but a spark in her eye she grabbed his hand before he had even been able to get a word out and placed it on her stomach. It wasn't so flat anymore as it had been two months ago. She was already showing quite a bit more than he would have expected. But he also wasn't any kind of expert on this, so perhaps he was wrong.

Beneath his palm, there was nothing except for the warmth of her body he could feel through her clothes for a moment. Her skin felt a little taunt and he could feel something underneath, a small head or perhaps a back. He wasn't sure. It was something. And then the something moved. And then the tiny something moved again and seemed to kick for where his hand had been placed. And he couldn't help the smile. And he couldn't help but to think that he didn't know if leaving was possible.

It was a weird, confusing emotion born out of the love he didn't know what to do with, but he couldn't shake it off.

Using the hand she had grabbed Cecily shushed and soothe the kicking baby, while George just stared at her in wonder.

“You should feel honoured, Ethan doesn't get to do that till he's back,” she smirked and allowed him to guide her back to the couch. “God, I've never been so bored in my life.” She sighed.

“You have two grown men at the disposal of your every whim and a library full of books and research, how are you bored,” George replied amused as she pulled him along and they sat down.

It was a little surreal. Watching her belly grow. A little surreal and exciting and painful at the same time. Cecily watched him as she reclined against the armrest of the couch with a few pillows. The look on her face curious as she watched the emotions pass by and then disappear when George took a breath and she replied, “well it's all I'm allowed to do if it weren't for the baby we would likely already be in London.”

She smiled. A little strained but overall warm and happy with the thought that she would at some point in the future continue to fight Templars.

George could feel his heart jump into his throat and failed to swallow it again. “How may I entertain you?” He asked jokingly and with a little mischief hidden in the smile on his face, as he waved his hand so she would elaborate.

 

_Crawley, November 1847_

Stupid Ethan. Stupid Ethan with his stupidly handsome face and stupidly charming laugh. Stupid Ethan hadn't told him. But then again when had Ethan ever managed to open his mouth and tell him anything properly. Nora had sent the neighbours kid running and so George had come running all the way from the train station. He'd jumped off before it had even halted but for entirely different reasons.

These were the last days they would have before he would go and figure out what the bloody hell his life was going to be without the two people that made it count. But it was for the better, or so he told himself.

First, there had been anxiety, then a strange rush of excitement and the two had mingled and made his heart pound so hard and fast he hadn't been able to think, but then it all stopped all of a sudden. The moment George entered the front door his gut sank with invisible rocks. The stillness surrounding him was overbearing, forcing him to pause.

“Eth… Ethan?” George croaked and cleared his throat. “Lil- Cecily?” She was the last he expected an answer from but calling her name felt better than giving in to the silence.

There was no answer so he made his way up the stairs. Gliding his hand along the wooden bannister. He didn't want to think what his subconsciousness was trying to say already. Trying to suggest. She just had to be sleeping and all everybody was to keep quiet for her sake.

Nothing could have ever prepared him. No amount of anxiety could have made Cecily's still body a reasonable event. It wasn't fair. That was the first thought he had when he saw her. George swallowed. Tried to breath. Tried to think. And then his eyes caught Ethan at her side who looked the way he felt. Heartbroken. Like his world had shattered. And there was a part of him, an almost overwhelming part that wanted to sit by him and hug him and make him bury his face in his shoulder. But George did nothing of that sort. Instead, he walked over and stood by his side, hand on his shoulder till Ethan noticed him and he was allowed to tear his stare away from Cecily's lifeless body.

“I'm sorry… Eth… I'm so sorry…” He breathed and wanted to sink down to sit with him because he didn't know what else to do. But it was then that the baby whined quietly and drew his attention. So he instead he gently shook Ethan by the shoulder. “C'mon mate, your kid needs you.”

But Ethan stayed as he was with his face buried in his hands, unmoving like a statue. So George took it upon himself to investigate what had upset the newest addition to the Frye family. Only to find not one but two babies lying in the crib, which made him halt for a moment. It wasn't the first time he saw a newborn, or two at once, but they did seem almost too small for what his brain suggested was the average size of a newborn. They were about the same height and size. One a little bigger than the other. Just enough to make a difference.

Small and helpless and… cold he presumed when he noticed a draft from the window, so he went over to shut it. But even that didn't stop the two of them from fussing.

“They're hungry,” Nora answered his question when George frowned at the crib. Perhaps it was written all over his face that he wanted to pick them up, but still, he didn't dare to. They weren't his and they never would be, but it didn't seem right all the same. “We need a wet nurse and pronto,” she instructed him when George evidently wasn't able to fill in the blanks of her first statement.

“Sure, I'll… I'll go find one...” He nodded and swallowed. Then he nodded again, quicker this time. Cecily wouldn't want her children to go hungry. It was with that thought that he straightened his shoulders and slowly made his way outside. Glad that nobody followed because his vision blurred along the way and it took that was left in him to get outside before he let go of the strangled sob inside his throat. No amount of cursing and crying would bring her back, but it felt like his body was succumbing to all the withheld emotions it had been forced to store in the worst possible way. The unfairness of it tasted bitter.

 

_Crawley, February 1848_

Ethan was gone. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous like only Ethan could make things ridiculous. And George couldn't keep himself from coming back to that house. He never did anything. He just sat on the ground or furniture and stared into empty spaces. Spaces where Cecily should have been, but couldn't. Spaces where Ethan had to be, but wouldn't. Or perhaps he couldn't as well.

The night George had come over to tell him that there was no reason for him to go, that nobody would expect him to carry the burden on his own, he had found the house empty and quiet without even a note of goodbye. It was the first time he had been more angry with him than in love and perhaps George had thought at some point on his way back to Nora's place it was for the better. His silent begging had finally been answered. He would get over them, even if in the worst possible way.

What a cruel joke the universe was playing on him. Yet here in this house it felt easier to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. It was easier to let go for a moment when there wasn't the possibility of a baby needing his attention at any given moment.

The idea that he would be the one responsible for bringing them up had never been one that George had entertained. It had either been Cecily and Ethan or… well, now he definitely couldn't have what he had wanted anyway. It would have to be just him and Ethan, but somehow George thought even that would be fine. If only Ethan were here to pick up the pieces with him instead of having fucked off to India.

Evie and Jacob. That were the names Cecily and Ethan had decided on. Surely not expecting twins. He couldn't help but wonder what Cecily's reaction would have been.

His relationship with Nora could have been best described by saying that they knew of each other's existence and that Cecily had talked about them to the other, so the past four months had had their rough patches. But they were getting along. Slowly. Steadily. Forcibly. Because there were two tiny little humans who depended on them.

Nora's house was cosy. It was easy to imagine Cecily growing up in here. Almost too easy because some nights his thoughts wouldn't let him sleep. But it was a house that was easy to get used to and easy to feel comfortable in nonetheless. Or perhaps it was the care she showed the twins that she now couldn't give to her daughter anymore that eased his mind.

There was a question he had to ask her, something he had to tell her because there was no way he could leave. He just didn't know how to say it. Or how to ask for it. So when it was Nora who approached him and she told him she had spoken to the council about keeping him a wave of ease watched over him. First a wave of ease, then came the guilt he didn't know how to place and the last thing George remembered was sitting at her kitchen table and burying his head in his arms because he couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at anybody or anything.

And he was grateful. And he hated Ethan. And he missed Cecily. And it wasn't fair to him or their children. But he couldn't leave. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. And George didn't know how to say any of these things without breaking.

 

_London, July 1887_

When he had moved Julia from Maxwell's flat into his own Lewis had helped him sort through the remaining history of London's most feared man. The plays and notebooks and library had been the easiest to accumulate into his own living space. Some of the carpets and curtains had went with them. Some of the art pieces too. Anything that could be used as a toy without asking. And then, of course, all the boxes of compromising material Lewis had helped him store away from the curious eyes of anyone who wasn't supposed to see it.

Needless to say, Jacob had still a stack of boxes that he hadn't unpacked because three children now ran rampant through his home. And while not everything held sentimental value… they weren't supposed to get their hands on Maxwell's work. The work that had not been plays. Because those he kept for their entertainment just the same as before and Julia still had fun editing them with her little siblings. Over the years she had even started reading them. So Jacob had given her a stack of Maxwell's book that he was certain she would enjoy.

The old assassination wall had made its way in and out of boxes over the years. Sometimes partial. Sometimes whole. But never back onto a wall. It had become more of a keepsake if anything. The only thing he couldn't really part with had been Maxwell's mask. The picture that it had come with had found its way into what Jacob could only describe as a journal although he didn't really like to call it that.

Needless to say, he should have expected Julia to find the box his targets had been sealed away in. She was sitting cross-legged on the chair at his desk with the box on her lap, going through the photographs and ads and notes and leftover string and wax from when it had still been in use. “What's all this...” She asked and Jacob was ready to give an answer when she stopped at the fateful little business card that had amused him so much but he had somehow forgotten about. “Em Arr...” She mouthed, spelling out the letters on the front of the card beneath the Blighters infamous insignia. “Who's M R?”

And so Jacob paused. Two steps into the room. Four steps from a gentle reprimand because she wasn't supposed to go through his things without even asking. “Come over here and bring the box,” Jacob heard himself say quietly and waved her over when Julia looked up almost dazed. As if she had been in thought.

With a thoughtful frown she followed. They were alone except for Rory and Lewis, who kept the former entertained. So they could sit together in the living room and talk in peace and quiet. Julia sat on one end of the sofa, Jacob on the other. She still held the box on her lap, acting almost protective of it. The same box that held once Rook the raven. Jacob still remembered opening it the first time as if it was yesterday. Still remembered the heartache it had brought.

“Well, who is it?” She asked like only someone who wasn't aware of the gravity of their own question could.

Jacob took a breath, watching her as she watched him. There had been a time where this conversation wouldn't have been possible for him because he wouldn't have known how to tell her, but now he only motioned her to come closer so she could place the box between them.

“Maxwell Roth...” Jacob told her quietly as he placed his hands above hers which still rested on top of the wooden box. The memories had a bittersweet taste to them as he fished for the card from beneath her hands and held it in his own. “A renowned man… for his brutality and ruthlessness, some worked for him, some owed him money, but all feared him...” Jacob placed the card aside and opened the box to rummage a little till he found the targets of their blooding as well as the respective notes and pictures. He leaned the lid of the box against one of his legs and placed the pictures against it.

“Sir David Brewster and Rupert Ferris… they were our blooding, Evie's and mine,” Jacob explained. “Brewster was a scientist working for Starrick, he had a lab and a fancy piece of Eden but he was forced to rush his experiment and the artefact exploded, taking the lab with it...” He paused. “Ferris,” he said tapping the respective picture. “Owner of several iron factories in Croydon, cruel bastard who would cut for the fillings in your teeth, I killed him like I was supposed to but the train I intended to escape on derailed, courtesy of the Blighters… it's funny now,” Jacob smirked, “but trust me I was scared.”

Julia mirrored his smirk but encouraged him quietly to go on. So Jacob picked up the next picture. “Doctor John Elliotson… once a renowned physician, in the end, he worked for Starrick, formulating the recipe for his infamous soothing syrup which really only melted your brain out of your ears...” He smirked when Julia laughed and flinched away from his hand that he tickled her neck with. “I watched him boring into a man's head before I got to kill him…” Jacob tucked a few blonde strands of hair away while he watched the penny starting to fall. It was going to land soon. So Jacob continued.

“Pearl Attaway… formally Starrick's competitor, unfortunately also his cousin… I think you can see how that work relationship didn't pay off, but she was ambitious and if it hadn't been for that puny little detail of them being related maybe I would have endured her a little longer, she always expected me to make an appointment...” Frowning incredulously Julia stared at her photograph before Jacob pulled up the next and sighed. “Twopenny, governor of the Bank of England, greedy bastard who wouldn't spare a shilling for a hungry child...”

His voice grew quiet and ebbed away as he watched the gears in her head turn. Julia sucked in a breath. “The factory owner and the scientist, doctor and the lady in purple… the governor of the bank… Lord Cardigan.” Here she paused, looking up carefully from her fingers which she had used to count his targets.

“All working under Crawford Starrick...” Jacob said and fished for his picture.

Julia stared at it in wonder as much as confusion. “How much of this...” She said, pointing at the box between them. “Is true… one hundred per cent honestly true.” 

“Most of it,” Jacob shrugged with a kind smile. “I tried to make it age appropriate and admittedly at first, I gave it a better ending than it ever had but… that still makes most of it true.”

Sinking back Julia folded her arms but not in protest but rather in an effort to keep herself together. “Why…?” She asked at last, in a voice so small and tiny that it was almost inaudible. “You didn't have to… I mean… it just...”

The little smile stayed on his lips but it didn't reach his eyes this time. “Do you remember the first time I told you the story?” Julia just shook her head. “You were four and it was summer and really hot and we both couldn't sleep and you wanted me to tell you a story,” she smiled at that, “and I wanted to tell you anything but that, you were just a child, you weren't supposed to know about Maxwell, or how heartbroken I was but… I missed him, Julia, I missed him more than I ever thought I could miss someone, and I didn't think it would become your favourite story, I just wanted you to sleep and if that was all I had to offer I wanted you to have a better memory of it than I had...”

Julia sighed quietly. She kept her arms folded and frowned at the box. “Tell me the real ending...”

“What makes you think its the ending I lied about...” Jacob attempted to smirk.

“It's the part that you keep changing,” Julie replied softly. “The part that keeps getting more tragic...”

Closing his eyes Jacob breathed in, breathing out when he opened them again. “You know most of that too by now.”

“Just most,” Julia pointed out and the began searching through the box only to realise that she couldn't find what she was looking for.

“I keep Maxwell elsewhere,” Jacob informed her while the little smile returned. “What you don't know is that his name was Maxwell Roth, and you don't know that this box carried his invitation to the show the night I killed him… he'd snapped Rook's neck and sent a letter with him in this box, what you don't know is that Lewis used to work for him and that I raised you in his home for the better part of your childhood because it was the only place I knew Jack wouldn't find you without actively searching for it or someone leading him to it…”

Breathing slowly Julia gathered herself and carefully began to put everything back inside the box. “You always said you were in love… was that a lie?”

Unexpectedly Jacob couldn't keep the hurt from his voice when he said, “no” and shook his head. “He loved me, that's one the few things I know as sure as that the dawn will come again and perhaps if things had been better between Evie and me I wouldn't have killed him, but I did and it's hard to live with that, but I have to do that too… and while it was painful, telling you the story helped me remember him in a better light.”

Julia didn't seem convinced but she followed, still curious when Jacob led her back to his study and made her return the box to where she had found it while he dug out the journal where he kept the picture she had been searching for. To his amusement, Julia scrunched up her face when she looked over his shoulder. “He looks old...” She remarked and shot him a glance, but then seemed to rethink that statement possibly thinking of George. “That scar looks nasty,” she commented then and shot him another glance. “Wait, is that my coat?”

Jacob snorted. “He had about half a dozen, I'm sure he could spare one for you,” he said and brushed her hair back as he closed the journal again before she got too nosy. “I couldn't part with it… and you loved it so much when you found it, I couldn't say no… besides I couldn't ever wear it.”

“Why?” Julia asked, smiling almost innocently now.

“Doesn't fit,” Jacob replied and rolled his eyes while she giggled. “But I'm glad you like it, I think London shouldn't tremble in fear when its reminded of him.”

Julia hummed quietly as she folded her arms. “It always made me feel safe...” She admitted and rubbed her arms now. “Like I'm invincible, although I'm most definitely not, it's just...” She shrugged and smiled.

“Like the devil's walking with you?” And she nodded again, smirking at the thought of it.

“I don't think you've chosen a very good namesake for him though, nobody's going to be afraid of Max… he'd rather read all day than fight.”

Just like Evie, Jacob thought and laughed with her. “That doesn't mean he won't be deadly when he's become a fully-fledged assassin, I know you hope he will be.” Caught, Julia smiled sweetly.

 

_London, December 1887_

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was brewing in the quiet that Jack had left behind the past months. But there was no indicator other than past experiences that Jack never stayed quiet for long. Even Freddy was suspicious of his absence, but with nothing to prove and Jack evading confrontation they had to wait like sitting ducks for him to strike.

“C'mon let's go for a walk,” George had said and dragged him outside by the hand.

It was the dead of the night and while Jacob didn't feel comfortable exactly with leaving his children on their own he had to remind himself that they weren't. That Lewis was there and he wouldn't let any harm come to them.

George's fingers intertwined with his when he wanted to pull his hand away again. “There's nobody around, Jacob… and I'm too old to care.” He said it with half a grin and a look on his face that brought back a little of the George who had wanted to leave Crawley behind so many years ago. Jacob could see it glimpsing through more frequently recently.

He gave in with a sigh and bumped into his shoulder to make his lack of objections known.

“You alright?” Jacob heard him ask quietly.

“Right as rain,” he replied. “It just feels like the calm before the storm.”

George pulled him close, making Jacob bump into his shoulder again while he hummed quietly. “I know you worry about Jack but there is nothing you can do right now, it'll be alright, Jacob… my dear.” He said it just loud enough for Jacob to hear, but it didn't fail to tug his mouth into a smile. “It'll be alright,” George assured him once more.

Jacob closed his eyes and nodded. There wasn't anything he could do but agree, for there was nothing he could do to find Jack when he disappeared from the map and hunting him only brought more danger than good. If it had been just himself he wouldn't have cared so much, but it wasn't. There was George, and Julia and Maxwell and Rory. And he couldn't be reckless for their sake. He wouldn't allow Jack to taunt him like that. Like Maxwell had. 

This time around the scene would play out by his rules.

It was starting to snow. Which made Jacob slow his steps and watch it for a while. Soon the snow would be gone when it rained again, so he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

“You used to want snow for your birthday,” George reminded him quietly and Jacob couldn't help the grin at the hazy memory it brought back.

If there had been enough snow around he would have planted a snowball in George's face, but it was only starting to cover the city again after the sleet downfall had left nothing but muddy, mushy leftovers that made nobody happy. Jacob's gaze wandered, blinking in and out of blue to better map out the streets in the dim light. Amused it returned to George who looked at him like he was seeing the world for the first time.

“How did you do that?” George spoke before Jacob could say anything.

“Do what?” Jacob echoed back with a puzzled look on his face, but there was no immediate answer.

George rubbed his eyes, mumbling something about them playing tricks on him. “I just thought… nevermind, just your vision changed when you blinked… something like that, I'm probably just tired…”

Now it was Jacob who paused. His eyes studied George's face, and for a silly moment, he thought… It wasn't necessary to actually blink, it was merely the best way to describe what happened to his eyesight when his vision switched. But this time he didn't look around and kept his eyes on George instead who looked like a child who was seeing snow for the very first time. He blinked out of it once again, watching the stunned amazement fade into confused bliss.

“Third time's the charm,” Jacob muttered into his scarf, feeling idiotically giddy about the expression on George's face. “Are you… can you see actually see that?” He didn't mean for his voice to sound so quiet and tiny, but Jacob couldn't even begin to describe the feeling of sharing the view.

“How the bloody hell are you doing that?” George whispered back in awe.

“I have no bloody clue…” Gently he tugged at George's arm. “We have to walk, else it diffuses like smoke,” he explained himself and wasn't able to wipe the smile off his face when they continued their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for the 10th:  
> »What left her mouth was no less than a wrathful growl.«


	21. The Autumn Of Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have gleaned from the title lotsa yucky stuff in this chapter. Take care, you awesome people. It's Jack the Ripper prime time. And that's really all I can say about this chapter.

_London, August 1888_

Something about the murder at the beginning of August had set Jacob's alarm bells off, the memory of the murder in April had almost faded, but he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. “Jack.” Something inside him had said. “Jack.” It had said it again when he had become aware of the name of the location. But there was nothing to prove that it had been meant as a warning for him, or for George. George Yard, Whitechapel. Either Jack was playing games with him or fate and coincidence were playing cruel tricks.

Perhaps he was merely being paranoid, but Jacob didn't intend to take any chances. Jack had become too friendly with the Rooks in Whitechapel. If the circumstances were different perhaps Jacob would have even found it funny that they should meet their end in the borough where it all had started. And while he did so with a bitter taste in his mouth, Jacob had no qualms bringing them down. It was the one thing he could do after all. The only thing he knew how to do in this mess. However, it wasn't just Whitechapel. Whitechapel was simply the worst.

It felt expected. Jacob couldn't describe it any other way when he was woken at the crack of dawn to the news of another murder. He didn't ask who it was and perhaps that was because he already knew before he even arrived at the crime scene.

The stench of blood filled his mouth with copper pennies that he couldn't swallow. The corpse had been covered with white linen but even those were soaked through by the time he arrived. He lifted it, just enough to get a glance at the body and turned away immediately. It wasn't like him to be grossed out by the sight of the murder, but he wanted to throw up right now.

Sending Mary after Jack had been a suicide mission. Jacob had known that from the moment he had asked her. No matter the fact that they hadn't been strangers. Both had accompanied him to India. Both had trained there. It had been the reason he had chosen her, and perhaps the reason she had accepted. An irreversible decision now. Mary would never again accept anything. Mary would never again do anything. And he had asked her. The thought kept spinning through his head, making nausea worse.

Jacob took a deep breath as he turned away. There were footsteps following him. Freddy's.

“Did you know the woman?” He asked quietly so only Jacob would hear him.

Freddy wouldn't tell, but Jack had eyes and ears everywhere. Or perhaps he truly was becoming paranoid. Pressing his lips together Jacob shook his head. He couldn't let him know. Not yet anyway. “I'll inform them when your men are finished… she gets a proper burial.” Prostitute or not. Even though she really wasn't.

Mary. That would be the name on her tombstone. Although it should be Ada Hall. But the Brotherhood would remember her. Jacob would make sure of that.

Something had to be done before there would be more like Mary-Ada. Something had to be done quickly.

He didn't need to wake George. That was one of the wonderful things about him whenever Jacob returned from a mission that required him to stay up late or in this case early. He was there and for a moment Jacob wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms and forget about the perils of the world. About the fact that he had sent a young woman into her certain death and that more would follow.

“You look pale, are you alright?”

Instead of answering Jacob grabbed George by the wrist and dragged him behind closed doors into his study. That was another thing this room was unexpectedly good for. Private conversations.

“Jacob? What happened? What's going on?” George asked and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Jacob wanted to lean into the touch but instead, his shoulders tensed and his breath quivered. “He killed Ada,” he whispered, not only because he didn't want to wake anyone but also because he didn't want anyone to hear. “Jack killed and mutilated Ada, her abdomen was just… like somebody tried to rip her open, George, I sent her, I knew Jack would… I didn't think he'd…” His mouth opened and closed again but nothing came out. When George pulled him into a hug Jacob held on tight and pressed his face into his shoulder. He had to think. He couldn't think.

What he had to do was all too clear for him, but at the same moment, he thought it Jacob wished he didn't have to. And he wanted to curse Jack and he wanted to curse Maxwell and he wanted to curse himself, but he didn't do any of that. Because there was nothing that it would change. “I have to find him before he kills again, George,” Jacob whispered.

“You will,” George answered, his voice also a whisper. “Look at me, Jacob, you will.” He said it as he grabbed Jacob's face to make sure he would follow through and indeed look at him. “If there's anyone who can stop Jack, it's you.”

There was the barest hint of a smile on Jacob's face, meaning to thank him for the confidence boost, but it didn't even make it all the way to the corners of his mouth. It was a hard thing he had to ask of him, but he wouldn't take the risk. Not after what Jack had done to Ada. “You have to–”

“No, I won't Jacob, I'm staying here with you, this is exactly why you asked me to come.”

“This is not up for discussion,” Jacob ground out. “I know what I asked and now I've changed my mind, I need you on the next train to Crawley with all the kids, I need to know Jack can't get to you, please, George… please… I have to do this alone.”

“You don't...” But George's voice was already faltering. The worry showed on his face so openly, so vulnerable that Jacob almost wanted to take it back. He would have liked George way better by his side. But he would end up worrying his head off about their children. And that wouldn't help anybody in the end.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find Julia outside the door, eavesdropping on their hushed voices after he had agreed to tell them.

Julia stood and straightened herself. Shoulders straight and chin up. Maxwell's coat her armour that wouldn't protect her now. “I'm not going,” she said. “I'm staying, he's _mine_.”

“Julia...” Jacob took a breath and tried to place his hands on her shoulders but she stepped away. “I'm not going to argue with you about this, you're going with George, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

What left her mouth was no less than a wrathful growl. “If you had the guts to kill him, we wouldn't have this problem now and you know that I don't care about Jack and I'll gladly kill him and if it's–”

“Stop!” Jacob bellowed. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't hear it. It wouldn't be the last thing she would do. “This is not what this is about.” This time all Jacob had to do to silence her was to raise a finger in warning. They hadn't ever fought like this and it was showing in the way Julia had flinched back when he had raised his voice. “Don't say it… just don't.” He shook his head and took a moment to gather himself before he continued speaking, much more quiet and sober although he felt nothing like either. “You're going with George whether you like it or not, this is not a matter of skill Julia, this...” Jacob paused, closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “I can't… I can't risk it and I won't risk it, I don't care if it's unfair to everyone else...”

She had allowed him close enough to cup her face and bring her close enough to lean against his chest. “Please just go with George and look after Max and Rory for me,” he said almost as quietly as he had spoken to George before. “They need their big sister.” His thumbs moved over her cheeks and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders when Julia buried herself in his chest. “And I need you to be safe… it's all you need to do for me, just stay alive and stay safe and I'm going to be fine, I wouldn't know what to do if I lost you.”

“You're not going to lose me,” Julia mumbled against his chest. She squeezed tightly when she hugged him. “Do I really have to?” She asked when she let go of him, but it was an empty question because Jacob could see that she already knew the answer without looking at him.

“Julia,” Jacob said quietly and waited till he had gained her attention again. “I'm not making you go because I doubt your capability, but I need to be sure you're safe and I won't be unless you're out of the city and I need you to know this.”

“I'll… I'll get Rory and Max,” she said in response and turned her head away. “I'll wake them up and make sure they're dressed.”  
Jacob waited till she had left before he turned to George again. “I'll write Evie, first thing I'll tell her to come to London, we brought down Starrick, we can bring down Jack if I can't do it on my own.”

George's answer was no more than a silent nod. Jacob didn't think twice when he kissed him. Messy and desperate and full of the fear that coiled in his gut but he couldn't voice. That Jack would make sure it was the last time he would see him. And perhaps it was, but he didn't want to think about that. Instead, Jacob clawed his fingers into the collar of his shirt, pushing backwards till he had him backed against a wall and Jacob sank against him with. Not a single fibre in his body wanted him to go. Wanted to be alone. Wanted to part with his children. Wanted to kill Jack. He wanted none of those things.

But all of these things were necessary.

“You have my utmost faith, Jacob Frye,” George said while his fingers untangled from Jacob's hair. Carding through it, before they came to a rest on his shoulders. “Never doubt that, as long as you live.” He wrapped his arms around him to hug him close. “I love you… and I will see you back in Crawley,” George added. Just as quietly against his hair when he leaned his head against Jacob's. “You'll be coming this time, won't you?”

Jacob couldn't help the tug on the corner of his mouth. He would have said something but the footsteps of three sets of familiar feet drew his attention instead. Julia held Rory by the hand while Maxwell had followed with caution behind them.

“I love you too,” Jacob replied in a murmur against his ear and pressed a kiss to George's cheek. Then he turned his attention again to their children. Quietly he ushered them into the living room to explain the situation in a much more child-friendly way together with George.

Julia remained silent throughout everything, it was Rory and Maxwell who were most distraught by the news of having to leave without their father. Even though George would stay with them they were absolutely against leaving without both parents.

“I don't like it either,” Jacob said while he held their hands. “But it's the best way I have to keep you safe right now, think of it as a vacation, like when we all went to visit aunt Evie.” The attempt of a smile lingered on his lips.

“You'll get to see where we lived and where your father grew up,” George added with much more convincing comfort. “Everything will be over before you know it, and then you'll complain you won't want to come back.” That even got a faint smile out of Julia. “It won't be so bad once we're there and it's not even an hour away from London, it's just around the corner.”

But Rory shook her head and cried and quickly threw herself around Jacob's neck so he would have to let her stay. So with a quiet sigh, he hugged her and kissed her head and whispered soothing nothings. She would be eight in a few months but that still made her no more than a child.

Max only watched him with concern, but he allowed Jacob to squeeze his hand and ruffle his hair. Ultimately Jacob pulled him into his arms as well, pressing both children close to his chest with no intention of letting go. Only when Rory was consoled enough to allow George to take her into his arms did he let go of them and stood to hug Julia who was sitting on the armrest of the couch once more. “Remember what I said, it's not a matter of skill – you're more than capable, but if Jack gets you...” It was impossible to finish that sentence so he only hugged her tighter. Jacob was almost sure he could feel her nod when Julia reciprocated the hug.

While George helped Julia and the two younger ones pack, Jacob retreated to write his letter. He had never been a fan of letters, but just this once he wrote as fast as he could. There wasn't much time and he wanted the letter to be done and by the post office on his way back from the train station. He would accompany George and the kids to make sure they weren't followed. Then he would drop off the letter and meet with Lydia.

She had taken to welcome him like an old friend whenever he came by. And while not all of her girls knew him on sight, she made sure all knew him by name. Jacob liked how they seemed to relax around him. Most of them anyway, the newer ones were always apprehensive.

Lydia was fixing her hair as she was coming down the stairs, but her face immediately brightened when she saw him. She still wore dresses most of the days when she had to deal with clients in one way or another, even though the tailor had gone through a great deal of pain trying to make her one assassin gown that could visually double as a dress without losing its practicality. “You're timing is impeccable as always,” Lydia said when she reached him. Out of habit, she folded her arms, but there was no attempt to look defensive. “Come into my office,” she said and took his arms elegantly as if he were no more than one of her customers.

“Have you read the newspaper,” Jacob whispered on their way up and watched her pale. He didn't say any more till they were behind closed doors and both of them had sat down.

“I'm sorry Jacob, Ada was a sweet girl.” Lydia reached out to squeeze his hand.

She was as scared as him, he could see it in the way she kept kneading her hands, but in front of her, he had to be sure. “Jack happened,” he told her quietly to make sure anyone eavesdropping would have a hard time understanding them. Then he leaned over and told her what he knew. He had sent Ada to gather information, not primarily about Jack but a source that Jacob had thought connected to him and now knew was under his thumb. What he left out were the gruesome parts of Ada's state, but he allowed her to make her own picture when he told her to not expect this be pretty if it happened again.

“I need your help,” Jacob said at last. “If Jack is targeting prostitutes, we can try and catch him undercover, I will send you a three assassins, skilled women just like you, you will give them fake names, aliases of women who actually work here, we'll do it like with Mary and send their namesakes to safety, while they will be the ones trying to get a lead on Jack, I know you want to take action, but the best you can do for me right now is stay alive and stay out of trouble, because Jack is trying to take Whitechapel for himself and I need to know there's someone here that I can trust to keep this place together when I'm not looking.”

Lydia was visibly restraining herself but she was not objecting. “Mary Ann was one of Nellie's girls, I suggest we sent two her way, just to be sure, I'll have to ask which ones she can spare, I'll offer Annie Chapman, she's a sweet young one, not made for a city like this, sent her somewhere with sheep and cows and lots of grass and the worst enemy being the winter's cold,” Lydia said with a smile that never reached her eyes. Then she paused. Deliberately. “If all goes wrong, I'll swap places with Mary Jane, she's new nobody will notice if somebody takes her place and don't argue,” she warned Jacob. “This is only for when we're on our last legs and I will make sure to leave instructions so this place doesn't turn upside down.”

Watchful Jacob had leaned back into his chair while she had gotten up and over to a file cabinet to look for a picture of Annie, Jacob presumed. “What do you want me to tell my girls?” Lydia said while she frowned at her folders.

“Tell them the truth,” Jacob said nonchalantly although he could feel his stomach turning. “You won't be able to hide all newspapers in London from them, make sure they are on their guard and let them know they are protected, we may not have the Rooks anymore, but I'm not the only assassin watching over London and Jack won't get away with this.”

“Here, lovely, mousy, ordinary face, I betcha you've got a girl like that,” Lydia said instead of responding and handed him a photograph. “Please return it when you send over the girl, I've worked my arse off to get these together.”

“Will do,” Jacob said in response, attempting for a smile. On his way out he paused. “You don't happen to know where I could rent a flat in Whitechapel.”

“Not off the top of my head, but I'm sure if there's anyone who can find a halfway decent place to live in this dump it's you, Jacob.”

 

_London, October 1888_

Jacob couldn't remember anything in between Jack plunging his knife into his eye socket and waking up dazed in a damp cell and that was likely for the better.

He couldn't feel the pain that should be there he knew, wondering briefly what Jack had used to drug him before the thought drifted off into nothingness and was forgotten. The socket and cheek were crusted in blood and although he couldn't be sure Jacob had a feeling Jack had scooped away the leftovers of his eye.

Tired Jacob brought up a hand to assess the damage. His lid had fallen shut and the area felt sensitive and swollen so he allowed his arm to sink again and rest. For a brief moment, his thoughts wandered to his family in Crawley but they barely lingered before his mind drifted off again and he had to close his remaining good eye to sleep.

The next time Jacob woke up it was by Jack's hand shaking him from a nightmare that snapped his good eye wide open. In front of him wasn't the freckle-faced man with the pale hair he had come to know so well anymore, just a burlap sack with slits cut out for the eyes and a top hat on top. If his condition had been any better he would have wondered if Jack meant to mock him, but it was hard to concentrate on anything with the shakes that rattled through his body from a cold either imagined or real, or his clammy skin. Or the way his heart seemed to want to pound its way out of his chest.

“Feeding time.”

Even from beneath the burlap sack, even after so many years Jacob still recognised the voice of the little boy he had picked up all those years in Lambeth. Katey. Lizzie. For a single moment, their names popped into his head. For a single moment, he remembered Jack's victims in all their clarity and if only his body had let him… But it didn't and through the haze of dizzy perception, Jacob thought he could hear him grin.

“Don't be like that, I don't want you to die before _the grand finale_.”

The words sent a violent shiver through him that Jacob had no control over. And for a very brief moment Jacob was sure that he had dreamt of Maxwell. It was to him, almost, as if he could hear him laugh somewhere in the back of his head.

Jack fed him… something. Jacob was having too much of a hard time concentrating on chewing and swallowing to figure out what exactly had been forced down his throat. A pint of something to drink came next. Jack talked a little more, but Jacob had a hard time focusing on his words. So he let him ramble and stared at him when Jack left.

His days were a drug-induced coma interrupted by brief periods of forced wakefulness when Jack jerked him back into reality for the brief task of feeding him so he could ultimately drag him out and parade him around the wreck that he called his city.

In his occasional moments of awareness Jacob hoped that his letter had reached Evie in time.

He couldn't say how many days had passed. It had started feeling like weeks way too soon once the fatigue had set in. There wasn't even a window in his cell to determine whether it was day or night. Although Jacob later wouldn't be sure it would have helped him in any way. He hadn't been very responsive during his stay in Jack's private prison other than when Jack had forced him to be.

But he remembered one instance with awful clarity.

Jack had come whistling with an almost scorched piece of something and had started eating it while sitting cross-legged in front of him.

He had eaten about half of it by the time Jacob had identified it as some kind of organ by its shape and smell when he had offered to share his snack. Hungry and mildly delusional Jacob hadn't bothered to do anything more than follow suit. There was no way to tell when his next meal would come, although Jack claimed he fed him on a schedule he wasn't feeding him very well.

“Sweet Mary Jane didn't make it,” Jack laughed and cut another piece off the organ he was holding while Jacob had trouble chewing and swallowing. “It really wasn't nice to send your girls after me, I recognised that one, what was her name, Lydia?” The smirk was as clear as day to Jacob despite the burlap sack. “I know how attached you were to that one, so I thought I'd bring you a little souvenir…”

He paused and gave Jacob another piece, but this time he waited till he was done eating before continuing to speak. It didn't make Jacob want to eat, but he forced the nausea and whatever Jack had put into his mouth down.

“So I brought one of her kidneys...” Jack sighed. “Mmmmh… tastes as sweet as she looked, doesn't it?” He laughed when Jacob gagged. “Don't worry I saved a tad bit for the coppers so our favourite sergeant can have a taste too.”

Jacob pressed his mouth close as hard as he could but Jack pried his teeth apart with more force than he should be capable of and forced him to chew and swallow. Patiently waiting so he wouldn't be unkind and throw up his gift.

If anyone had bothered to ask him this was the moment Jacob had decided not to participate in reality anymore.

 

_London, November 1888_

It was only fitting and sort of ironic that Jack had decided to imprison Jacob beneath Lambeth Asylum, Evie thought. So they had come full circle after all.

After Frederick had helped her divert everyone's attention from Jack's body and they had safely brought him out through the back Evie had organised a small group of assassins and two carriages. One to escort Jack so Freddy could go back to his men and the other for herself and Jacob.

It went without saying that Lambeth wasn't the place for him to stay, but the only place she knew of was the small cramped flat he had rented in Whitechapel. Perhaps it was for the best though, she did have some work to do while Jacob recovered. Concerned faces met her when she had reached the carriage with the small entourage which was now slowly making it's way from Lambeth to Whitechapel.

Nobody spoke a word, but Evie couldn't keep her hand from gently carding through her brother's hair. She had left Anima and Mani in a hurry of apologies and she couldn't be more glad for not bringing them after seeing what Jack had done to the boroughs. It made her wonder about George and the children, but she could barely concentrate on that as her worry remained focused on Jacob in her lap.

Keeping her fingers on his face reminded her that this was real. That he wasn't dead. That there was still a chance. That all the fear which had frozen her feet at the entrance of the cell door was unreasonable.

She wanted to cry. For Jacob. For herself. Some part of her wanted to cry even for Jack, but her face remained frozen. None of the other assassins would ever see her vulnerable like that. Even with Jacob half dead in her lap, she would remain a pillar of strength to them.

Quickly she had ushered them out with a number of instructions once they had reached the flat and Jacob was safe at last. Evie knelt by the bed, stroking his hair once more. She could have done it for the rest of the day and perhaps she would have if the knock on the door didn't disrupt her trance.

“Miss Nightingale,” Evie couldn't help the sigh of relief. She had sent for her the moment they had driven off from the asylum.

“I came here as soon as I could, where is your brother.” She spoke quickly and pushed past Evie to make her way to the bed where Jacob lay as still as he had in his cell. Almost lifeless.

“Over there,” Evie heard herself say but Miss Nightingale was already at his bed examining Jacob with stern professionalism. But she didn't need to shush Evie for her to remain quiet. Unlike Jacob, quiet had always come easy to her.

“He seems to have been drugged, opium I suppose, it's often a popular choice, but it could be anything from the medicine cabinet at Lambeth, I'll have to check with the present staff if anything went missing, it's hard to tell in his current state, all I can do is treat the apparent symptoms” she began as she started cleaning and dressing Jacob's eye. “Somebody scooped out the remains with… curious care, I'm surprised it isn't infected, I hope this doesn't make you queasy but you will have to change the bandages every two days the wound hasn't been cared for in weeks and needs to heal properly.”

She kept talking and Evie listened, occasionally nodded while Miss Nightingale kept examining Jacob for further damage. Of which there didn't seem to be any other than the missing eye and the obvious fatigue.

“He seems to have been fed and given water or something, someone must have wanted to keep him alive...” She told Evie while assessing her reaction, but Evie only thanked her and showed her out the door once she was done.

She didn't know what to do with herself so she started cleaning up the mess Jack and Jacob had made during their fight. Although it couldn't have been much of a fight. For all that she could tell someone hadn't fought and merely been pushed around. And that someone had to have been Jacob.

The thought made her sigh with a bone-deep sadness that encompassed all that had happened. Followed by the question of why he hadn't talked to her. After all this time. After admitting his relationship with Maxwell. After the rocky acceptance of George in his life, why had this been the one thing he had decided to keep from her.

Her eyes wandered over to the photograph on the wall next to his bed. Jack and Jacob and her after their trip to the temple of Kali. It had been one of their few moments alone with Jack who had always reminded her of Jacob too much. Or perhaps not anymore. Because Jacob wouldn't have murdered five or more innocent women.

Taking a deep breath Evie straightened herself. There was nothing she could do for Jacob now other than sitting by his bed and watching. So it was just as productive if she forced herself to clean up. She started with the shards of broken glass and any weapons she could find. That wasn't much and the broken mirror seemed to mock her when she started to stack the books back onto their shelves and for now, at least accumulate Jacob's paperwork in one spot. She placed the stack on the side of his desk with care, then reconsidered and brought both papers and the chair over to sit next to his bed. There were still some hours of daylight left and she had to feel useful.

Wherever where George and the children? She couldn't find anything among his paperwork and he hadn't even brought a journal. Sighing Evie rubbed her eyes. She didn't mean to yawn, but the day had been long and exhausting.

A single thought crossed her mind when she curled up next to Jacob to find something akin to a proper nights rest.

Crawley.

It was early morning when she woke, but Evie would have preferred to stay in bed. She didn't like the thought of leaving Jacob all on his own. It summoned anxious demons among her thoughts whispering “what if” when she turned her back on him. But something had to be done and she had to see George.

Slowly, Evie entangled herself from her brother and scraped together some breakfast. It was the least she needed before she could take on the day. There had to be a middle ground for her need to see George and the protection Jacob needed that didn't amount to sending someone over to Crawley. They needed every man and woman… Evie sighed. There was too much to do.

Clara didn't wait for her to say anything but immediately crashed into her for a bear hug. The little girl she had once been was now a full-grown woman who had dropped her business like manners for the security of Evie's presence. Babylon Alley had grown from an alley into a small cluster of buildings she used to house the children in her care. They even had a small infirmary, two kitchens, a library of sort and Evie even spotted a room with a number of cribs when she had made her way to Clara.

“Oh, you're here, you're here!” Clara breathed in relief. “Everything's gonna be fine now, is it?”

A faint smile lingered on Evie's lips when she hugged her. “Jack's dead you don't have to worry anymore,” she assured her while a small ring of equally curious and frightened children gathered around them. “You don't have to worry anymore, the scary man is dead, he won't ever come back,” she assured them. Then she gently pried Clara from her embrace and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Clara, will you do me a favour?”

“Anything for you, Evie,” she smiled.

“You have to take care of Jacob for me, just for a short while, I have to go and find George and the children, and I need to be sure that he's safe while we clean up this place, can you do that for me?”

“Of course.” Clara nodded almost immediately. “He was gone so long did anything happen?”

Evie struggled for words but the pained expression on her face seemed to say enough. “He won't be much trouble, just make sure you get him to eat and drink a little whenever he's conscious.”

The hardest part had been not to give in to her worry when Clara agreed to leave Babylon Alley for the day so they wouldn't have to relocate Jacob again. She wouldn't be gone for more than a day anyway. All she wanted was to grab George and the children and return to London. Clara was sitting on the chair Evie had brought up to the bed and looked at Evie with all the worry she felt clutching at her guts herself. The moment she had seen Jacob her face had collapsed in itself as if someone had pulled the rug out from under her feet.

Still, she said, “he'll be alright and I'll be back in no time.” Although she wasn't sure if her words were meant to ease Clara's mind or her own.

She didn't want to leave Jacob, but she forced herself anyway. There was nothing her presence would do as long as Jacob wasn't particularly conscious. Silently she promised him to be back and kissed his knuckles as she whispered her goodbyes into them.

Against better judgement, Evie hitched a train to Crawley. She didn't want to bother with the crowded compartments even though it might distract her from the anxiety which had comfortably nestled in her chest. The rattle of the wheels below the storage cabin reminded of her of the train they had owned and all the times she had fallen asleep to it. And she wondered if Agnes and Bertha were still around and made a note to ask George and her brother about it.

It had to have been the longest half an hour of her life till the train station was finally in sight. Near empty compared to London as always, but it was a comforting sight nonetheless so Evie allowed herself a deep breath to ease the tightness in her chest.

Her feet walked her to the house she had grown up in almost on their own. It was the only place she could think of going. The only place that made sense to start. Evie breathed in and out and approached the front porch.

She didn't even get to the door when it opened on its own and Julia stood in the doorway. The last time she had seen her she had still been half a child, now she resembled much more the picture of a grown woman. “Where's papa?” She asked with repressed fright fluttering somewhere in her chest. Evie thought she could almost hear it calling out to her own anxiety.

“He's all right,” Evie replied with a weak smile. “Let me get inside first.” An eerie quiet had spread through the inside of the house that tightened the knot in her chest again. “Where's George?”

“Living room,” Julia replied without taking her eyes off her. She paced to block Evie's path. “What happened? If papa was fine he'd come get us.”

Evie recognised too much of Jacob in her way to argue with her statement in that moment. “He needs to rest,” Evie answered quietly, afraid to speak too loudly in the house she had once felt so welcome in. “But he will be alright, Jack is dead, he can't harm him anymore.”

“What did he do?” Julia whispered, swallowing hard on something that closed up her throat.

She wouldn't take kindly to evasive answers. Evie knew that as well as the fact that the sun would set. “Jack held him captive, he's missing an eye, but he's safe now,” she said, smoothing the fabric of Julia's shirt down her arms. “He'll be fine, he's with Clara, she'll take good care of him, there is no need to worry, all he needs is rest and medicine and someone to take proper care of him.”

When she realised that Julia wouldn't move, Evie carefully manoeuvred around her towards the living room where Maxwell sat with Rory with a number of toy soldiers scattered between them. She hardly got to take in what was happening when Rory jumped up and ran up to hug her. “Aunty Evie!”

Maxwell stood quietly but she noticed how her presence was welcome even to him when he approached her and she was allowed to pull both of them into a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?!” Rory asked immediately. While Evie placed her hands on their shoulders. “Where's papa? When will he come to pick us up? It's so boring here, I wanna go back home.” She sulked and Evie wanted to do nothing but smile over her childishly innocent view of the world.

“Did something happen?” Max asked, carefully lifting his gaze.

“Don't worry,” Evie assured them with a smile. “Everything is going to be alright now, your father just needs to rest, but you can see him soon, now I need to speak to George...” Her gaze wandered, then stopped when it caught Julia. “Would you mind watching them for a moment?”

“No problem, c'mere you little mobsmen,” Julia grinned and let them gather their toy soldiers before she led them away. “Who wants to play hide and seek?”

She led them out holding their hands, while Evie watched and waited for them to be out of eyesight and earshot. Then she turned to George. Asleep as usual and buried amidst the cushions and a blanket on the couch she shook him awake. “George, come on – wake up, I know you're a night owl but this is important.”

Tired he blinked at her, but when he recognised her a smile spread across his face so warm that Evie wondered how she hadn't felt welcome in this house when entering the door, but then her presence seemed to flip a switch because the expression on his face collapsed. “Evie what are you doing here, where is Jacob?”

She waited with more patience than she thought herself capable of for him to sit up and rub the sleep from his eyes. “Jack got to him,” she found herself saying. She didn't know why she started with that. “But he's alive, he just needs rest and someone to look after, he's with Clara...” Her mouth stayed open but no words were coming out, instead, her jaw quivered and the fears about what could have happened lay on her tongue. “I thought I was too late...”

“But you weren't...”

Evie only nodded to confirm his words. The hug came a bit with the element of surprise, she hadn't expected him to get up, but she didn't fight him, only held on like the child she had once been in his arms in need of comfort. Now the same as back then. “I saved him,” she breathed. “I saved my brother, my little brother…” But she sought distance when she gathered herself and cleaned some dust that wasn't there off her clothes. “George, I need to speak to the council, they need to know what happened, they need to be aware of Jack and I need you to return to London with me, pack everything – _now_ , I'll meet you at the train station when I'm done, this will be quick and painless.”

“What's your plan?” Was all he asked.

“Jack has overrun the boroughs we need to close the fight clubs, Robert will have to find work elsewhere, and while I admit I like Jacob's little network the brothels seem to lack proper supervision and guidance,” George cursed and Evie raised a brow. “What is it?”

“He got Lydia, didn't he? She was Mary Jane's stand-in.” George ran a hand down his face. “Christ, when did that happen?”

“Two days ago...” It had been the morning of their birthday when Frederick had called for her. But Evie tried not to think too much about that. It had only worsened her fear of finding Jacob dead. “She was...” Evie swallowed and pressed her lips together. “Wait you knew Jacob was sending assassins after Jack?”

George nodded without hesitation. “Of course I knew, bloody trouble keeping that from Jack, he butchered Ada the night Jacob sent her after him to gather information about one of his men… he was suspicious since the murder in April, but we couldn't prove anything and going after him would have brought more danger than good.”

Of course. It made sense now that he said it, but somehow she hadn't expected to find Jacob going against Jack with a well thought out plan. It just wasn't like him. Still, this wasn't the time to contemplate Jacob's methods. So Evie merely nodded. “What else?” She asked.

“We sent the girls away, they're safe, but I don't think we should bring them back until the boroughs have been cleaned up… Jack might be dead, but–”

“ _Is_ dead,” Evie corrected him coolly. “ _I killed him_.”

George nodded. Some unspoken agreement passed between them in that moment.

“I want you and Julia to help me with the cleanup, she's too much like Jacob, she won't keep her feet still no matter what we'll do, I know he would have trained her well, let her prove her skill.”

George nodded again. To her surprise, he didn't object.

By nightfall, they were all back in London, safely nestled into a flat at the heart of the Strand. While George had helped her bring Jacob over from Whitechapel a man named Lewis had guarded the children. Evie only had a faint memory of him, but all three of them recognised him with a smile on their face so she decided to bother with that later.

She had warned Julia to make sure neither Rory nor Maxwell would see Jacob till they had put him to bed and changed the bandage on his head, but she watched her pale when she finally brought her younger siblings in. Rory seemingly didn't grasp that Jacob wouldn't wake up when she shook him and Evie had to gently pull her away and explain to her best capability that Jacob was merely too exhausted to do anything but sleep in his current state.

Maxwell only stared as he held on tightly to Julia's sleeve until Julia gathered them both and distracted them with the promise of food. There hadn't been much she had been able to tell them.

All they could do was wait.

Evie hated waiting.

George, however, seemed complacent with doing just that when she found him sitting on the edge of Jacob's bed once everyone else was asleep. Even Julia hadn't fussed when she had been sent to bed, but she hadn't slept for another hour and read by candle light. It was too dark outside to see by this point.

What a strange and lovely sight she thought to herself when she found them. She remembered India when Jacob had visited her a few years back. She remembered their words, but words couldn't quite capture the concern she saw lying underneath or how gently his fingers caressed Jacob's seemingly lifeless hand. As if he were dealing with something much more fragile than her brother. Evie felt almost like an intruder when she took a seat on the other side of the bed and placed a hand on Jacob's shoulder, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. She had been gone for too many years now and Jacob had spent God knew how many days in that damp cell without any hope or light.

She wouldn't leave again, Evie knew that in the very moment that she watched Jacob's chest slowly rise and fall as he slept through all the exhaustion and pain Jack had caused him. “Can I sleep here tonight?” She asked, unable to look George in the eye. It felt weird, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Jacob for another mere second.

“There's always room for you,” George replied quietly.

Evie smiled and eased herself down onto the mattress to cuddle up to Jacob like she had when they had been just children. Seeking warmth and comfort in each other's presence when they had had nobody else. Like she sought comfort now. And unexpectedly found it when George gently tousled her hair before his attention turned back to Jacob. Blue tinted her vision as she watched him from beneath half-hooded eyes.

“Jacob's incredibly lucky to have someone you...”

“No...” She couldn't see it, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “ _I_ am lucky to have Jacob, I think that goes without saying.”

Evie didn't know what to reply to that. Still, she thought to herself, Jacob was lucky to have him.

“He'll make it Evie, just you wait and see, he made it this far, he won't die just now, it's just an eye.”

In the dark, it sounded more like he needed to convince himself, but Evie wanted to believe it all the same as she pressed her face into Jacob's shoulder and closed her eyes.

“You can relax now Evie, I'll be here while you clean up the boroughs.”

As comforting as that was meant to be, Evie knew down to the last fibre in her being that she couldn't. She would only feel better when Jacob woke up, and then… she wasn't sure what would happen but it would be a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie's pov is a one-time thing I decided to do for this chapter because it made the most sense to tell the story from her perspective for the time being. Next chapter we're back with Jacob.
> 
> Preview for the 17th:  
> »He hadn't been to Maxwell's flat ever since Jack had killed Nitya.«


	22. An Unlikely Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a choice to make in this chapter and now the kids are stuck in a loop of "papa! - no not you the other one!" bc I think I'm hilarious. You're also gonna find out why the Rooks were named Rooks.

_London, December 1888_

Bright daylight blurred his vision and forced Jacob's eyes shut when he woke. Wakefulness came in moments that came and went and sometimes spilt into each other. Sometimes Evie was with him. Other times George. Even other times he thought he saw Julia. Sometimes she had Rory on her lap as she quietly spoke to her. Maxwell only ever came alone into his room and sat and stared. And Jacob noticed all of these things even though he found it hard to process them properly as they happened they sank into his subconsciousness.

George had fallen asleep next to him. Jacob noticed that when he bumped his face into his shoulder and tiredly buried his nose there. For a moment he rested there, allowing the familiarity of his presence to soothe the ache of his body and eye when he noticed her hand. She had slung her arm around his waist and squeezed into bed with them. Like they had squeezed into bed when they had outgrown theirs as children.

Turning around in the small space they left him was a bit of an inconvenience but Jacob managed and couldn't help but smile – the weariness of the world hanging from the corners of his mouth – when he saw Evie wide awake next to him.

“Hey.” His throat was parched so Jacob could only whisper or croak quietly.

“Hey...” Evie replied just as quiet. Her hand moved from his middle to run down the side of his face. As if she had to make sure he was real after all. “How are you feeling?” Tentative relief flickered across her face as the reality of it seemed to sink in.

“Terrible,” Jacob muttered. Still, he tried to keep the smile. Just glad for her to be here. Behind him, George nestled into his shoulder. Tired as he felt Jacob sank against him and closed his eyes. “I want to sleep...”

“Then sleep.” Evie replied with much more gentle care than one might have expected, but Jacob was already drifting off again.

The next time he opened his eyes it was dark outside and his vision shifted almost all on its own into the gentle blue that would let him see even in the darkest surroundings. He would have expected to find George, but instead, there was still Evie by his side.

“Where's George?” Jacob groaned when he heaved himself up. He'd been sleeping so long he needed to sit for a while to feel better about being awake.

“Out with Julia, Jack left a lot for us to clean up,” Evie replied without missing a beat or looking up from the book she was holding. He had to wait another moment for her to put it down and continue. “She's been a lot of help, but she's a little too much like you to let her roam unsupervised.”

To have the decision to send her into the field taken from his hands so easily settled uncomfortably in Jacob's chest, but he didn't feel like arguing or questioning their decision. So instead Jacob merely accepted it as a given for the moment. It was certainly for the better to have Julia out and about, he could see the reasoning behind it. Still, the fact that he hadn't been given a word in this decision didn't sit right with him. Even though he trusted George and Evie to make the right call.

With a sigh, Jacob rubbed a hand down his face. This wasn't the right time to lament about missed parenting choices he decided and stared at his sister blank minded, while something even more important trickled through his conscience. “Jack… is dead?” It hadn't been her exact words, but she had made it clear without saying that he wasn't a problem anymore. Which in Jack's case could only mean one thing.

Jacob had expected the relief, but he hadn't expected the sharp sting inside his chest when he tried to breathe and nod her confirmation into proper form and shape of the realisation that Jack wouldn't come back. Ever. Jacob hadn't expected his breath to be so shaky or for his eyes to sting so much.

“It's okay,” Evie said quietly when she sat down on the edge of his bed. Her fingers gently tousled his hair while Jacob rubbed the tears away that he didn't want to cry. Although Jack surely deserved them more than Maxwell ever had. So perhaps if he were to cry for anyone it should have been Jack who hadn't deserved any of what happened to him. And yet even Jack didn't deserve any tears in light of what he had done. “I know he was like a son to you, I know… I know...” She murmured and allowed Jacob to sink against her. “You did everything in your power to stop him, you have nothing to blame yourself for…”

Weakly Jacob shook his head. Although he didn't speak and only buried his teeth harder in his lower lip till he felt the taste of blood in his mouth and felt like he could think for a moment again. “It's not fair...”

“No, it's not,” Evie agreed softly.

There was nothing to argue with in her statement so Jacob buried his face again and tried to still the bleeding by sucking his lip in. “I know I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“I told you there is nothing you have to blame yourself for, you couldn't have known he'd kill them so easily, or what he would have been like twenty years older, nobody could have seen that coming… not even you.”

“But I did–”

“You couldn't have known it would be this bad,” Evie reiterated her point. “You know that as good as I do.”

Jacob couldn't help that he wanted to sulk in response, but instead, he let himself sink onto his back again. His body was tired and so was his mind, and absolutely nothing in this moment seemed worth getting up for. “Still, I should have killed him when I had the chance...”

“You didn't–”

“I _had_ the chance, Evie,” Jacob sighed. “I had the chance when he came for me, I had the chance in India when he attacked me, I had plenty of opportunities and every time I chose not to someone else suffered the consequences… and the one time I did, I hurt him and he turned into… _this_.”

It was Evie who made him roll over and look at her and for a moment they appeared to be fifteen again not abiding any of their father's rules. “You didn't turn him into this, Jacob, if anything you were probably the only reason it was kept at bay for so long, if you hadn't been there for him he would have been long dead–”

“–And we all would be better off for it –”

“You don't know that you could have been right… but you'll have to accept that it is how it is and that he turned out how he turned out, we can't change that now – neither that he's dead, but it's okay that it hurts.”

Jacob breathed a quivering sigh, but he didn't object when Evie made him roll onto her lap so he could bury his face in her stomach.

“You've done enough, Jacob, now it's time to rest,” Evie said, playing with his hair again as she pressed a kiss to his head. “Just sleep and get better, that's all anybody is expecting from you right now.”

Part of him wanted to argue with her, but Jacob couldn't find the energy for it so he allowed Evie to soothe him back to sleep.

The next time he woke up he didn't remember that Jack was dead for a good several moments after waking up, but he wasn't exactly given any chance to process that or anything else before Rory climbed onto his bed and forced him to sit up because she had to inspect his missing eye. Careful and with a tired smile Jacob pried her fingers from his face.

“What happened to your eye? I don't like this,” she fussed in all distress a eight-year-old was capable of. “I need you to grow a new one!”

Stupefied by her reaction Jacob couldn't help the chuckle. “I don't think that will be possible,” he admitted to her and rubbed the sleep from his good eye.

“Does it hurt?” She asked while Jacob carded his fingers through her auburn hair. To which he merely shrugged.

“Somewhat, but nothing I can't bear.” That seemed to soothe her enough to wipe the distress from her face for the moment. “Now can I be a real pirate when you need one…” Jacob smiled, pointing at his eye while Rory giggled with delight. Since Maxwell was so bookish she was taking a little more after Julia.

“Auntie Evie did my hair, do you like it? She's a lot better at it than papa, he tries really hard but he's just not good at it, why are you so good at it?”

“Because I always did your aunties hair when we were growing up,” Jacob grinned and made himself comfortable. Rory shifted likewise on his lap and leaned against his chest. “Your hair looks wonderful, sweetheart.” If it wasn't for the fact that he had slept for most of the time ever since he had gotten out of Jack's cell Jacob would have closed his eyes and drifted off again in that very moment because there were few things more wonderful and precious in the life of an assassin then getting to fall asleep with their child in their arms. Instead, he inquired after Julia and Maxwell.

“Maxwell is training,” Rory immediately informed him, “Julia is… helping papa and auntie, she's being big and strong and intimidating.” Rory emphasised her point by trying to mimic exactly that, but only managed to make Jacob smile more. “Don't worry Lewis is here, he's being a good playmate, but auntie said I can't have real tea for the party unless someone makes it for me so I'm having Lewis make it for me,” she chirped.

Rory proceeded to persuade him out of bed to join her little tea party, but Jacob couldn't be more glad to go back to bed after that. His body had more complaints about being awake than anticipated and Jacob yielded sullenly. Only the fact that Evie kept him company made it somewhat better.

“There's something else we have to talk about...” She began tentatively as if she weren't sure he would like what was coming next, but when she continued Jacob laughed quietly. “The Rooks, we'll have to get rid of them – Jacob this is serious,” she frowned. An exasperated sigh left her lips and she placed her arms akimbo as she stood in front of him.

“Fine by me, pin them down and hunt them down,” he replied with a tired smirk. “Did you talk to George about that?”

“Yes, and he told me to talk to you, though I really don't understand what's so funny about this.”

“It's not funny, it's tragic actually that it's been twenty years and you haven't bloody figured it out,” Jacob replied, and while the smile stayed on his lips it didn't reach his eyes. “They forfeited their name the moment they joined _his_ side, and if you had ever bothered to give it some thought instead of trying to argue me out of starting a gang you wouldn't have to ask for my permission now.” Evie frowned in full-blown frustration now while Jacob still grinned. Now more than amused again. “What's a rook good for in chess?” He asked at last, once the silence between them had been drawn out into considerable length and it was clear that Evie was expecting to be thrown a bone.

Puzzled her brows knitted together. “Rooks… their movement pattern?”

“No, what's their function, what do they represent – strategically speaking,” Jacob replied patiently. Evie was the clever one, she would get there he knew. He could see the gears in her head turning. “Like pawns represent peasants and even though they barely offer any protection they're the first sacrifices to go, like the way bishops represent church and religion and their position on the board is an allegory for once being second in line to the king and queen in terms of power, or knights being represented by a horse head because–”

“– that's what they rode,” Evie sighed, but she couldn't help but to laugh a little now as it dawned on her. “They represent the castle walls, they protect the king and queen, they were a Queen's Guard,” she sputtered out, half unbelieving, half utterly delighted by the revelation.

Jacob only nodded in response and smiled. He'd thought she would have figured that out long ago. “George made an equally stupid face when I explained it to him,” he mused.

 

_London, January 1889_

It took a bit of getting used to having only one eye, but Jacob didn't have much trouble in the long run outside of fighting. So it was taking slightly longer than he would have liked it to to get back into the field. Although Julia seemed to appreciate the vacancy much more than she seemingly wanted him to know, but Jacob held no objections against sending her out on missions. If anything now was as good a time as any.

He had waited for a moment alone with Evie before asking the question that burnt on his tongue, however. “Can you show me where he's buried?” Jacob had asked more quiet than he had intended to. But this was nothing he wanted Julia or George or either of the other children to know about. This was between him and Evie and Jack, and perhaps Freddy since he had helped his sister, but Jacob could scarcely imagine anyone wanting him to visit Jack's grave.

To his surprise, Evie had agreed but had argued him out of going right this very moment. So Jacob had waited patiently till they had been able to excuse themselves and Evie had led him all across town into the more rural parts beyond Lambeth.

Jacob couldn't shake the feeling that Jack wouldn't have liked it one bit to be buried here, but Evie's expression mirrored what he thought after that. Jack didn't get a say in where he should be buried and if anything this place was more fitting than any other. It had started in Lambeth. It was only fitting that it should end in Lambeth.

There wasn't a name written on the small stone plate. There wasn't even a proper grave and for that at least Jacob was glad. Jack had wanted the fame and attention the newspapers had given him, he had been thriving of the fear his name had caused in peoples hearts. Knowing the whereabouts of his grave would have only made it harder to put an end to his reign. At least this way people would finally find their peace once the common consciousness of the city had accepted that Jack The Ripper wouldn't return. For no particular reason that they would know of.

Jacob dug his boot into the hardened soil. Soon spring would come and it wouldn't look like a grave at all anymore. It would be covered in shrubs and grass and nobody would ever come to think that London's most notorious criminal of the eighties was buried beneath the flowers that children would come to pick from his grave in the summer.

“Rest in peace, Jack… I hope you were finally able to find it...” Jacob told the grave, hoping that nobody except for Evie would ever hear those words when the wind carried them of. “I'm sorry I wasn't enough, I'm sorry I couldn't stop you when you needed me to...”

Instead of answering Evie took his hand and squeezed it. Gently Jacob returned the gesture, there was somewhere else he wanted to go with her but it wasn't quite time yet so he had to postpone that a little unwillingly.

“I was thinking of staying in London,” Evie said after a while.

It seemed she was waiting for him to move, but Jacob couldn't quite bring himself to leave Jack alone just yet. All the years that he had lived with him Jack had been trying to avoid him, and the years after that he had antagonised him, and Jacob had always given him the wanted space. Only now it felt like he could take a moment and sit with him for as long as he wanted, while the wind tugged at his clothes and Jacob tried to remember all the better times Jack had allowed him to experience. The few instances where he had been no more than what he had always been to Jacob, a little boy in need of help and comfort. A little boy who had deserved better.

“I'd like that, does that mean you're finally going to move out of our bed?” Jacob replied with an unexpected laugh on his lips.

Evie couldn't help it either when she saw his face and added, “I've written Anima to make the arrangements, I don't want her to travel with Mani while it's still so cold outside so she won't be here until spring or summer, but I want to have everything set up by then… I miss them...”

“How old's the little mobsman now? He should be six by now, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Evie smiled but suddenly frowned. “I should start training him soon… when did you start with Julia?” It seemed she had never thoroughly planned that out and any other time Jacob would have teased her for it, but considering it was a hassle enough to raise a child he could hardly fault her for it. “Father started when we were six,” she reminded him.

Groaning Jacob rolled his eyes and tugged at her hand to get her moving. “Oh, father… Julia didn't start till she was eight, neither did Maxwell and Clara didn't start till she was fourteen, you'll know if he's ready… just make sure you listen to him, don't force him, he's just a child, if he doesn't want to learn how to fight or shows any interest in your favourite subject doesn't mean he never will, but it will be much worse for the both of you if you force it on him.”

“You know, Jacob Frye,” Evie smirked. “You might just be on to something… which reminds me of something, I asked George about it and he said you neither trained Julia of Maxwell, at least not to the extent that father trained us, but why? For all I've heard from Clara you're an excellent teacher?”

Her question was justified, but Jacob took his time answering it. “It sounds stupid...” He admitted at last, but Evie urged him on as they left the burial site and made their way back into the city. “I felt like I was being forced to choose between being a father and being their teacher, I was scared I might treat her more like a student than my daughter and I'd never want that, with Clara I never had that problem, she didn't need me to parent her, but she needed a teacher and someone who would take her seriously, someone she could trust but at the end of the day Clara isn't mine in the way that Maxwell or Rory are.”

“You're right,” Evie admittedly and bumped into his shoulder at they walked. “You're right, I should see if he's ready… why is all of that so easy to you?” She sounded almost frustrated now.

But Jacob only squeezed her hand and linked their arms as to keep her close. “It isn't… it never was… having to decide how to keep Julia safe while Jack was still with me was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make, it's not about having an easy choice, Evie, it's simply making the right decision even when it's hard because you know that a baby won't stand a chance against Jack and that Jack would come after you if you sent him away, and even then I wasn't sure she would be one hundred per cent safe from him, but it was the closest to actually safe I could keep her… and for that you sometimes have to accept their anger and tears and bitterness, knowing that you've caused it even with your best intentions when all you really wanted was to make them feel loved and like they belonged and like they're wanted...”

His words halted almost abruptly at those words and Jacob sucked in a cold breath. It still wasn't easy to admit, but it was easier than the last time. “It never felt like he wanted us… me...” His speech was clumsy, while she reached for his hand again through their linked arms and tightly grasped his. “And I didn't know how to say that and at some point, I didn't even know anymore what I was angry about and then he died and it wasn't fair and it wasn't right and I could have strangled you for trying to step into father's footsteps…” Jacob paused again. “Sometimes I thought I had to be angry in your stead because you wouldn't be, even though you cried your eyes out for six years when he didn't come home for our birthdays or really any big event in our lives… but on the other hand, I never wanted you to feel guilty for what you had…”

“You wouldn't have.” Evie shook her head while she said it, although Jacob wasn't so sure she would have been able to assure him the same way twenty years back.

“Evie Frye I commend your character growth but I doubt you wouldn't have found a reason to be upset with me all those years back,” Jacob reprimanded her most gently.

“Perhaps,” she replied, burying her nose and her gentle smile in the scarf she wore, “but it would have made understanding you easier, and perhaps you would have told me about Maxwell sooner.”

Jacob didn't have an answer to that so instead he pointed out, “I think Rory would benefit from someone closer to her age to play with, once you have Mani and Anima here you shouldn't move too far away.”

“Don't worry, I intend on staying within arms reach – metaphorically speaking.”

Jacob hummed and smiled. “There is somewhere I'd like to take you, to be honest.”

He hadn't been to Maxwell's flat ever since Jack had killed Nitya. He had made Lewis pick up everything that had been forgotten in the aftermath of moving and ever since then Jacob had left it to rot. But Evie remembered at least its location for all that he could tell and though he could see that she wanted to ask more questions than there was room for on her tongue. But she remained quiet and let him lead the way. Up the stairs and into what was now a half empty and decrepit living space of the ghost Jacob had left behind in its walls. It looked exactly the way it had felt after Maxwell's death now, and with the dust to match.

Clearly, nobody had come to clean this place up in several years, but Jacob couldn't find it in himself to do so now either. And it would have to be him because his heart lay buried underneath the clutter and dust and decay. And yet he knew that he never would. This place would rot like Maxwell's corpse had been rotting in the ground. “I wanted to show you something...” His voice wavered a little when he led her into what had once been a living room and kicked a few things around, another few things over and moved some more things around till they had a comfortable little space to sit.

With crossed legs, Evie sat in front of him. Waiting, while Jacob hesitated. “I'm… sort of good at doing these things separately, but… I haven't really had a chance to practice both at once so this might be a little… rocky in execution,” he said with a sigh and placed his hands on her knees. “That's not really necessary, it's just making me feel better… and a little for focus,” he admitted and patted her legs.

First their world in blue. With a smile, he watched her mouth open in a tiny delighted gasp full of wonder when it spread to her field of vision. “How did you...” She began but Jacob couldn't bring himself to speak as he let the moments pass to allow her to settle into it. A little smile that wouldn't reach his eyes all the way stayed on his lips.

“That's not the party trick,” Jacob admitted, his voice sounding more brittle than he wanted it too. It was like picking at the scabs of an old wound, especially when he wasn't sure what it would take after all this time. But he closed his eye and took a deep breath, reaching into the hollow Maxwell had left behind where he had stashed all their memories away. Pressed them into shape so they would fit and couldn't escape.

It was so easy. Even after all this time, that Jacob had to close his eye again at the sound of his voice. It hurt to hear, even after all this time, but Evie's look of stunned wonder as she stared at the ghostly images around them made him think that it was worth it. All that Maxwell had been to him lay within these segments of his mind and no words would have been enough to describe them properly.

Jacob didn't realise just how hard his heart was beating in his chest, or how his arms were shaking until Evie took his hands in hers and he had to catch himself before he'd sink into her lap. No words in the world would have been enough, so his memory had to serve. Closing his eyes Jacob sighed, brisk and shoulder heaving, but he couldn't help the little laugh that passed his lips when he wiped away a few tears from the corners of his eyes and he had to assure her that he missed him in a good way in that moment. “I'm okay,” Jacob smiled as he leaned against her hand, watching as she returned it despite the lingering concern.

“You didn't have to show me that,” Evie mumbled once everything had faded.

“I wanted to… I wanted you to see what I had seen… and I'm not sure I could have done that in words.”

 

_London, April 1889_

Jacob had roped Evie in for a little quest across town to pick up some flowers. Scabiosas, freesias and most important agrimony. And then he had taken her to a small inconspicuous cemetery in the heart of the City of London.

“Do you remember what you told me when you figured out I was actually capable of making responsible decisions?” He asked with a lopsided smile as they passed the gate and he led her to Nitya's grave. It was their first stop and not at all the answer to his question, which mirrored in the confusion on Evie's face. Although she happily took a few of the freesias from his hand and placed them on her grave.

“I wish I could have had a chance to see her again before she died, the two of you got along so nicely…”

“I wish I had never asked her to come here,” Jacob replied instead and placed his share of the flowers. They were a colourful mix that would look pretty till the next rain shower came, but this was more about the gesture than the longevity of the flowers and a little for their own sake. “She was one of the best friends I ever had.”

“I know...” Evie gently touched his shoulder. There was no accusation in her tone and Jacob wasn't sure why he had expected it in the first place. If Jack hadn't killed Nitya something else might have. It was simply the life they were living. “So what are these for?” She asked rather curiously, although a bit tentative as she pointed to the rest of the flowers Jacob was holding.

“You once told me,” Jacob sighed as he got up, “that you would like to thank whoever set me straight, I figured it was high time you two met.” A little smirk played around the corners of his mouth when he handed her the branches of agrimony.

Evie took them with a confused smile, not sure what the make of the gesture although she didn't refuse.

Perhaps it would have been easier to just say he was going to lead her to Maxwell's grave but Jacob wouldn't have known how without making it awkward. Still it was when they stopped, not too far away from Nitya's grave, just a few rows behind an inconspicuous gravestone with nothing much of an inscription. Just a death date and his initials next to a raven.

“ _Unfortunate love_...” Evie said when Jacob gently dropped the first flower onto the grave.

“Or _unfortunate attachment_ , alternatively _I have lost all_.” He finished her translation of floral language. He had come across one of Henry's books, left behind after they had left when he had been training Clara and their meaning had struck him as particularly fitting. “Although I'm not sure what he would say about me bringing him flowers, I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment… he liked tragedies… and he's mine.”

Jacob got up from where he had been crouching in front of the grave and gently took her arm so she could add her share. “Maxwell...” Jacob said quietly, slowly as he chose his words with care, “took me for who I am, when I needed it the most, it wasn't that I was scared of ending up like him, I knew it didn't need to scare me...” He paused, pondering for a moment. “I wanted to do better because he appreciated it, and I wanted to do better to show myself I could reach the same outcome without going as far as he would have, and he taught me a whole lot, although I didn't realise it at that point, even when he died...”

Instead of placing the flowers Evie had listened intently. Eyes fixed on the gravestone as if she was trying to comprehend what had happened and what was happening. When she knelt at last and placed the branches she said, “well… it is not the kind of thank you I would have imagined, and I certainly wouldn't have endorsed the notion of building this city on what seems to be your legacy… but I will say thank you for the… positive albeit questionable influence on my brother.” Then she got up and dusted her clothes off.

“You're full of surprises, you know that?” She smirked when she turned her attention back at him, and Jacob returned it. “Care to share some of the… _wisdom?_ ”

Jacob laughed quietly. Not sure whether to take her question seriously, but doing so either way. “ _Every good criminal needs a place to invest his ill-gotten gains_.”

The smirk on Evie's face stayed and she shook her head. “So if we know where they invest we can monitor their influence, you know, _Jacob Frye_ … perhaps this man was a good influence on you.”

“Stealing freedom is equal to denying someone their humanity… I'm sure you can say a lot of awful things about Maxwell and you may be right, but he wasn't a Templar and he never could have been, I didn't trust him on a foolish notion, I just couldn't fathom a man who says things like that wouldn't wholeheartedly support our cause, it wasn't the only reason I decided to work with him, but it was certainly the most sensible one.”

“I remember you told me something like that in India,” Evie replied. “I always wondered how someone like him could leave such a mark on you, it was always so infuriating to watch you work when I knew you could do better… I guess it wasn't as obvious to you...”

Silently Evie offered him her hand. An offer to go if he wanted to just as much as an offer for peace between them. “It's no use wishing on could haves and would haves, although there are a lot of them, I'm just happy we're talking,” she said as they walked away. “And I'm happy for you and George,” Evie added quietly after another moment. “Something which I never thought I would say in my entire lifetime,” she teased and Jacob laughed.

“I can assure you it wasn't my plan to ever make you say this…” He paused. “I'm happy for you too, even though things between you and Henry didn't work out, but I'm happy that you found Anima and that she makes your life so much better.”

“I mean it,” Evie insisted. “I made so much of a fuss when I found it, but I mean it, I'm glad that he's here and that you didn't have to be alone when I wasn't here, I can see how much he loves you, you're very lucky Jacob, perhaps more lucky than you realise.”

With a smile Jacob tugged her closer to his side, linking their arms as he did so.

They returned to find Julia and Maxwell huddled onto a windowsill with a letter in her hands and whispering. Neither of them seemed to notice as they approached, but both of them flinched when Jacob cleared his throat and Evie asked what they had found.

“A letter from the council...” Maxwell slowly announced when neither of them would speak for a while and Julia promptly hit his arm and caused a low whine before he hit her back.

“ _There was a heist at Stirling Castle_ ,” Julia burst out. “It's been in Templar hands for centuries, it's chock-full of research and artefacts and there's been a heist that nobody authorised and now they're scrambling to get enough assassins together to keep the research they stole!”

“Isn't that all the way over in Scotland?” Evie inquired, shooting a glance at him when Jacob only shrugged. He knew that much, but he didn't know much more than that it was a Templar stronghold. For Jacob, it ranged within the same subject area as the Kenway mansion when they had come to London, but then again a castle and mansion perhaps shouldn't be compared so lightly.

His eyes sized Julia up and down. She didn't need to tell him for him to guess what she was about to say next. “And you want to go?” He asked, more solemn than he had meant for the question to come out before she could even begin to utter a word.

“Why not? London will be fine now that Jack's gone, he never overturned the whole city, sure it'll need some time to recover but it _will_ recover that's the nature of this city, Stirling Castle is a one in a lifetime chance, of course, I want to go,” Julia responded without missing a beat. She'd gotten up from where she had sat next to Maxwell as if to remind them with her full height that she wasn't a little girl anymore. “Let me go to Stirling, it won't be forever… just a couple months or so.” _Please_. She didn't speak it, but her eyes said it all the same.

Jacob took a breath and sighed. “Alright, I'll convince George to help you sort out the details,” he replied with a faint smile. “He's better at that than me, but I'll doubt he'd be happy to send you.”

“Oh he's just a worrywart,” Julia huffed and rolled her eyes. Yet in the same breath, she grabbed Maxwell by the arm and pulled him from the windowsill. “Did you hear that Max?! I'm gonna go to Stirling!” She laughed, while he muttered something about her being stupid and rolled his eyes.

Jacob couldn't help but laugh, reminded of the many arguments he'd had with George about similar things when he had been her age. “Just promise you'll come back in one piece...”

“I promise.” Julia smiled from ear to ear.

To his surprise, Evie didn't butt in or tried to argue him out of it but Jacob waited till they were on their own again before he asked her about.

But Evie only smiled in response. “She's very much like you, I don't see any good in keeping her cooped up in this place, she most likely is way better off at Stirling than in London, she's right after all… I'm just surprised you find the decision so easy to make, or at least you make it seem easy.”

“It's all but easy,” Jacob sighed. “I don't think George is going to like it one bit, I'm going to be worried till the day she's back in London, but if I don't let her go...” He shrugged and shook his head. “It's not in her nature to stay put, and she won't and if I don't give her the opportunity to go out there it won't make anybody happy.”

“She is exceptionally capable for someone her age, she'll be fine,” Evie assured him as she sat down opposite to him at his desk. Almost casually she grabbed a notebook from a stack of files and tugged a photograph from its pages. Jacob recognised it before she placed it between them. “I found this while I was looking for you when…” She couldn't finish the sentence and Jacob didn't force her, instead, he took the photo and stared at it as if it held the answers to everything in the world.

It was the two of them, together with Jack and Henry the day Evie had taken them to a local temple of Kali. Initially, Anima had meant to be with them but she had been forced to cover for someone else on a mission that day. It had been his idea to take Jack along. Thinking the goddess would perhaps capture his interest. So few things had captured Jack's interest back then, but for all the complaining he had done on their way to and back from the temple Jacob remembered the way his eyes had lit up during Evie's little history lesson about Kali. He still remembered how hot it had been. The faint sting of pain in his leg whenever something reminded him uncomfortably of where Jack had stabbed him. For a single day, he'd been just an ordinary teenager.

“Do you remember that day? He reminded me so much of you, but you kept–”

“I always told you he's not like me, not at all,” Jacob replied with a faint smile. “He always reminded me more of Maxwell… just worse, sort of… does that make sense?”

“A little,” Evie admitted while she kept staring at his hands that held the photo. “I think you should keep it… I'll hope you keep the stature at least.”

Smiling Jacob lowered his head. “I'll most definitely keep the stature...” It had become one of his most prized keepsakes, just for the fact that his sister had gifted it to him and they had barely ever seen each other in the past two decades. His eyes wandered but never looked at her. “I guess I should thank you as well...”

“What for?”

“Killing Jack in my stead, I couldn't have done it,” Jacob pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Killing Maxwell… took _so much_ out of me, I couldn't have done it again, but I didn't realise that until it was too late, I thought if I can just contain him…”

“You don't have to justify your actions, not to me, Jacob, least of all to me.” Evie grabbed one of his hands and wrapped hers around it, running her thumbs over his skin as she did so. “And I should thank you for allowing me to pursue my research mostly undisturbed,” she then added with a smile.

To his surprise, George later agreed to send Julia to Stirling, despite their shared worry.

 

_London, May 1889_

Julia left just shortly before the beginning of summer, leaving Jacob with a murky sombre feeling that he couldn't quite shake off. He'd written Henry. He couldn't say why, it simply felt right to include him in the events of what had happened after Evie had left India. Although he didn't expect him to jump ship and come back, for all that he knew Henry had made himself quite at home again in the Indian Brotherhood.

He'd been left with Maxwell and Rory and George, but something seemed to miss with Julia gone from his everyday life. It was different than when he had visited his sister in India. Perhaps because she was older now and all on her own. Not safely tucked away in Crawley hidden within the Brotherhood that wasn't even aware what it was hiding. This time around there was no Jack present however and Jacob tried to concentrate on that.

But then summer came and shortly thereafter Evie was reunited with her family and Rory was able to gain a new playmate in Mani. Much to Maxwell's relief who much rather spent his days indoors reading his way through Evie's library when he didn't have to train. Unlike Evie however he never tried to excuse himself by pretending to be tired. Instead it seemed an extension to everything else he was doing. So perhaps it really was for the better that his younger sister had a new playmate and the older one was gone for the moment. For all that Jacob could say Maxwell thoroughly enjoyed the peace and quiet it brought him.

It wasn't out of the ordinary to find Maxwell nowhere near his bed in the middle of the night but instead curled in some corner he'd fallen asleep in over the book he was currently reading. When he had been younger Jacob had carried him to bed, but since then he had grown a lot and quite a bit more since Julia had left Jacob had to settle for putting a blanket over him when he didn't want to wake him.

It wasn't like Maxwell to wait up, however. He'd read and fall asleep and Jacob would have to wake him to get him back to bed, but he wouldn't wait up. Whatever he had on his mind could always wait till the next morning.

“C'mon get to bed, Max.” Gently Jacob ruffled his hair when he found him in front of the kitchen stove, staring numbly at the water was starting to boil.

“Can't sleep,” Maxwell sighed. “Had a bad dream,” he mumbled. “Don't want to sleep… do want to sleep, but don't wanna.” He moved his head to escape Jacob's hand for a moment but leaned against him all the same tired as he was.

“What was it about?” Jacob asked. Instead of ushering him into bed he convinced Maxwell to sit down at the kitchen table. Maxwell mumbled something that sounded a lot like “dunno, don't remember” as he pulled his legs up and tucked them under his chin, seemingly ready to fall asleep right then and there. With a quiet hum, Jacob made sure he wouldn't fall off the chair and turned his attention to the tea again. Or what was supposed to be tea when it was done.

“I'll go to bed if you answer me something,” Maxwell decided after a while of sitting in comfortable silence with him. But when Jacob tried to catch eyes they wandered off. “You… sometimes talk about someone with my name, I know it's not me, and you only talk to papa about him or aunt Evie… you always seem kinda sad when you do so I don't really wanna ask,” he mumbled into his hand as he rubbed his face and yawned. “Julia knows, I think, she knows a lot more than she lets me know, or you… who is that man you talk about?”

This time he turned his gaze onto Jacob and while his speech had sounded tired Jacob recognised the clever glimmer in his eyes that always reminded him so much of Evie and told him that Maxwell's mind was far from asleep at this moment. His thirst for knowledge was a quiet one, quiet like an ocean that could swallow you whole making him seem much older than he was at times.

Jacob turned to lean against the counter. Breathing in. Breathing out. “Maxwell Roth,” he could say his name with the hint of a smile these days. “When Evie and I came to London all these years ago he was the gang leader of the Blighters and… through an unfortunate series of circumstances I ended up being forced to kill him.”

“That story you kept telling her,” Maxwell mumbled almost absent-mindedly and with no intention to interrupt.

“You're right,” Jacob couldn't help the brittle laugh. “You're right that's how she found out but you were still so young… I didn't want to overwhelm you, I didn't want you to hate your name.”

“Why shouldn't I? He was one of your targets, wasn't he?” Maxwell frowned, but either he was too tired or he genuinely didn't feel emotionally invested in the subject and was only curious.

Sighing Jacob turned off the now boiling water and poured two cups for them that would have time to draw while they talked. “He was so much more than that,” Jacob replied quietly when he brought the cups over and placed them on the tabled between them. “I didn't make up the part where I said he loved me.” He couldn't help but to say it with a sad little smile.

“Then why did you kill him?” Maxwell asked, scrunching his face up in plain confusion. “You don't make a lot of sense right now.”

Again Jacob felt his breath heave through his body before he spoke, but this time the smell of tea filled the room, easing him into comfort. “The man we were after, Crawford Starrick, was notorious for having children work in his factories and workshops, Maxwell thought we should set an example and I agreed,” Jacob paused, it always surprised him how easy the memories still came, “that was until he wanted to blow up the workshop with the children still inside… I tried to stop him, but the explosives went off anyway… I rescued all of the children and the following night I killed him, I have… a lot of regrets about that night, but it was the only solution I saw because I was young and hurt and didn't think I could talk to my sister, and I was hurt for a long time after, but when I named you after him I wanted to remember the man who loved me, who made me feel like I was worth more than everyone made me believe… you were named after an exceptionally creative and clever man who valued his freedom more than his own life.” Jacob had reached out to cup his face and get Maxwell to look at him so he could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“But you're not his shadow,” Jacob added after a breath. “You're your own person and it's up to you what you make out of this, I want you to remember that, Maxwell.”

Nodding slowly Maxwell straightened himself. He slid his legs off the chair, he'd been trying to cross them but was now giving that endeavour up entirely and instead stirred his tea. “Did you ever have a dream that felt so real you weren't sure you were dreaming?” He asked into the silence that was starting to spread between them while he watched Jacob lean back. “I dreamt of a woman… and weird… devices, but I knew how to use them… that woman, I think she was my wife, she was really clever, we worked together, I think she was my wife in my dream, that was weird but somehow it all felt so natural, we worked with a lot of strange technology but in my dream it wasn't strange, it just was, like everything else like… I was watching someone else's life play out in front of my eyes, but...” Maxwell halted and tensed.

“But what?” Jacob gently urged him on.

“But nothing...” Maxwell said and shook his head. He looked frazzled when he tried to avoid Jacob's eyes and took the cup in his hands to warm them and chase away whatever was ghosting through his mind.

“I can wait till you think you can talk about it… just try to get some sleep tonight.”

Jacob sat with him till the tea was starting to take effect and he was able to convince Maxwell to go to bed where Jacob felt just a little better leaving him alone. At least after he had convinced himself of Maxwell's well-being, but his son had only curled himself up in his blanket and refused any interaction with the world when Jacob had sat down at the edge of his bed. So he left him alone and went to find George to ease his own mind. He wasn't much of a night owl anymore, which had taken some getting used to.

There had been something peculiar about the way Evie had asked him about his eyes way back in India. And right now the little voice in the back of his head whispered that it was time to remind his sister and inquire what that had been all about, but since it was the middle of the night and London wasn't falling it had to wait till the next morning at the very least.

“Maxwell's eyes?” Evie did that thing where she scrunched up her nose a little as she frowned and seemed to go inward to think about his words for a moment. “Yes, I do remember that...” She nodded. “But it's been a while since I read the research, this would be entirely hypothetical otherwise...” She smiled almost apologetically. “Let me make sure I'm right about this, I'll have to ask the council to lend me some of their precious books.”

 

_London, August 1889_

What Maxwell had described hadn't sounded much like a nightmare, but of course, that was before he'd seen what the supposed dream had been doing to his son.

The one to alert him had been Rory, although she hadn't been very specific only stated that Maxwell was being weird and sort of scary. And of course, he couldn't have his son scaring his younger sister and their cousin. Who was taking his time getting used to his new environment but seemed comfortable enough as long as he was left within Rory's presence. He wasn't getting along all too well with Maxwell, but Jacob figured that was alright. They weren't supposed to be all best friends, just not mortal enemies.

“Maxwell?” He didn't look much like anything to Jacob other than oddly absent, but his skin was clammy and his movements shaky when he turned to face him. Like a puppet suddenly made aware of its master. “You alright?”

“I've never been better,” he grinned, but it wasn't the grin of a boy. “I've… yes,” Maxwell's attention shifted from Jacob to something that wasn't there and he murmured a string of sentences that neither held value nor meaning to Jacob. It sounded like he was talking to someone or… something. Like he was analysing a string of data that only he could see. 

His head tilted back just enough to look at Jacob when he grabbed him by the shoulders, wanting to shake him but he didn't. Shaking wouldn't bring him back despite all that his brain was convinced of. “Maxwell talk to me, what's going on?”

“We can't fail, my love… have to… find her...” Maxwell shook and seemed to lose all strength in his bones as he collapsed panting in Jacob's arms. Whimpering he pressed his palms over his face. “Hot… I'm so… hurts...” His nails clawed across his face leaving marks in their wake while Jacob could only watch trying to steady him.

“What's wrong, Max?”

“Dunno… I...” Max managed with laboured breath. “My head… feels so… I don't… I… something's wrong, papa, can't think, can't...” Again he buried his face beneath his palms, breathing heavy, clawing his fingers into the skin on his forehead, while all Jacob could do was hold him as Maxwell slumped against him and Jacob eased both onto the floor. Sitting was easier when you didn't know what to do. A tired sob escaped Maxwell's throat when Jacob stroked his back in an effort of comfort.

All the questions on his tongue had to wait no matter how urgent they appeared to Jacob, but Maxwell simply wasn't in shape to do much of anything. “Max, you alright?” He asked quietly and only got a head shake for an answer. “When you're better I need you to talk to me… or George or your aunt, okay?” Maxwell didn't reply but he blinked at Jacob and for now that was enough. For now all that mattered was that he would be better again.

The little voice in the back of his head whispered about Jack and what little he had told him about his eagle vision, but Jacob didn't want to think too much about that right now. It would be too much of a coincidence and too much of fate's cruel irony. He hadn't been able to kill Jack. He wouldn't ever be able to kill Maxwell. He didn't want to think about these things.

Behind him, Rory quietly shuffled across the floor and knelt down next to Maxwell with a look of concern that was much older than her currently eight years. “Are you alright, Max? You scared Mani quite a bit, that was really mean, don't do that again, you know he hasn't quite settled yet… Max?” Her eyes shifted up to Jacob when her brother didn't respond other than by blinking at her as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. “What's wrong with him papa?”

“I'm not sure, but don't worry, he'll be alright,” Jacob replied, trying not to let her know just how much he worried. There was no need to make her any more anxious. “I'm sure he didn't mean to scare Mani,” he then assured her, “but for now I think you two should leave your brother alone, he needs to rest.”

Rory nodded, looking at Maxwell again. “Okay, we'll be quiet like a pair of mice,” she promised.

“That would be sweet of you, now go tell Mani it's all right and he can come out, nobody meant to scare anyone,” Jacob replied and heaved Maxwell up into his arms with a sigh. He was definitely getting too old to carry them, but that wouldn't stop him either. Boneless and exhausted Maxwell slumped against him in his arms and he sunk into his bed all the same. This time Jacob stayed by his side till he was sure that Maxwell was fast asleep.

He slept nearly a whole day although he tossed and turned in his dreams, but whenever someone tried to wake him he wouldn't come to. Instead, his eyes snapped wide open and he sputtered something seemingly nonsensical before collapsing into what Jacob hoped was a dreamless sleep again. Taking all questions and answers that he may or may not have had with him again, leaving Jacob more confused than before.

“You're not telling me everything you know,” Jacob told his sister when she came around the same evening to pick up her son. Mani was fast asleep in her arms but he had still lowered his voice more than necessary.

“How long since he's had these… nightmares?” She asked instead of answering his unasked questions.

“Evie!” Jacob hissed.

She sighed, pushing him back when she stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind them. “I'm telling you as much as I'm sure of and right now there are only two options and it's either that he's going through the same as Jack in which case I don't know what to hope for or we have a sage on our hands in which case the Templars are going to raise hell to get their hands on him, so for the sake of your son let me make sure I'm reading the situation correctly… and tell me everything that's going on because I want to help you and I want to help him, but we need to do this quietly.”

“A sage?” Jacob scrunched up his face in confusion. It wasn't an entirely new concept to him, but never one that he had effectively spent time on after learning it's general definition. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“We'll talk about that tomorrow,” she sighed. “It's been a long day.” And it would be many more long days till Julia would return and he would have all the answers to the questions Maxwell was posing. But for now he let her leave and returned to Rory who had woken up thirsty and now questioned him about what he had whispered about with Evie. But that was nothing she would have to concern herself with now. So Jacob let her have her glass of water and brought her back to bed before he sought out George who had been watching her and Mani while Jacob had watched over Maxwell.

“What do you think?” George asked when Jacob made himself comfortable at his side. It was dark outside already and the streets would be even more desolate if it weren't for the light of their lamps.

“It's too early to think anything,” Jacob sighed, setting his head on George's shoulder and he closed his eyes. “I don't want him to become like Jack...” He whispered into the half-dark and rolled onto his side to hide his face and hug George's arm. “I just want him to be a normal kid...”

“What does Evie say?”

“That he's special...” Jacob sighed but couldn't help the little smile as he spoke the words. “More special than he's aware of right now…” He didn't want to voice her thoughts just yet and he was glad that George didn't pry them from his mouth anyway, but kissed his head instead and made Jacob wonder how long he would still have him. It wasn't a very comfortable thought so Jacob had the tendency to avoid it, George was neither sick nor otherwise incapacitated. He was simply getting old and Jacob wasn't sure whatever he'd do without him. The one constant in his life that he had always been able to rely upon. “It just makes me feel so helpless when I can do nothing but watch.”

“You're doing all you can and Maxwell knows this,” George assured him when he pulled Jacob into his arms. “He's not like Jack, he'll never be… you would have known way earlier if that were the case.” And just like that the anxiety which had taken root in his marrow seemed to cease just enough for Jacob to breathe. “Whatever is going on you're the one person I know who can handle it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell may be dead but that doesn't mean I can't find a way to put him into almost every chapter of this story. He was an important part of Jacob's life and Evie only now came back to London so of course, they have to catch up on things. It was the chapter where I kinda remembered that George is getting old and I will have to deal with this. Only one chapter left!
> 
> Preview for the 24th:  
> »“Understand what?” Jacob asked quietly as he sat down with her on the edge of the bed.
> 
> “How you couldn't let go of Jack...”«


	23. The Art Of How We Grieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST!! CHAPTER!! And for some inexplicable reason, I am nervous about this.   
> I had to make a lot of choices in this chapter, let's see how you like them.

_London, September 1889_

Julia returned the way she had left, in a flutter of excitement and pent up energy, but she didn't return alone. There were two assassins linked to her arms as she marched them rather confidently into her home and introduced them as Julian and Adelia. Julian shared her blond hair and reminded Jacob strangely of Valérie with his fair eyes although he seemed to spend his days rather in the sun outside than hidden beneath the cowl hanging from his collar. His hair was tied back with one of Julia's ribbons that she liked to braid into her hair. Adelia's was dark and curly and she had seemingly chopped most of it off in an attempt to tame it, it appeared. Jacob would later find out it had been rather ungraciously shortened by a Templar and she had made the most of it for the time being. She greeted him with warm dark eyes and a smile to match while Julian was a little more reserved.

Perhaps he found him intimidating, Jacob thought a little amused. And then that the three of them made a nice pair the way they were presenting themselves in front of him. So utterly comfortable in each other's presence.

“Both of them need a place to stay, and I was kind of wondering if it was okay if I stayed with them?” Julia smiled. Sweetly, like she only did when she wanted something where she wouldn't take no for an answer. The question, however, was a mere formality when her eyes scanned his face and then George's, whose presence seemed to be accepted but otherwise unquestioned by their guests.

There was no reason to deny her request although Jacob couldn't help but feel the gap like a hollow in his chest the day she packed her things and left again. Even if it was still within reach this time.

George smirked once she was gone and all (temporary) goodbyes were said. “They're cute, don't you think so?”

“Sure,” Jacob replied and shrugged. He wasn't sure what to make out of the face the other was making. “No… nooo… are you sure?” He really wasn't sure what to make of George's silent insinuation. 

“Just look at them, they're all making sheep's eyes at each other… trust the old man who's been in her shoes and don't say anything about it before she comes to talk to you.”

“You think so?”

“I think she trusts you enough not to exclude you from her life the way you thought you had to exclude Ethan or Evie… and me for a while,” George added kindly.

Maxwell had been the one to take the brunt of it when Julia had left although he didn't want to show it, it was easy to notice that he was getting worse. But when asked about it he found it hard to articulate what was going on in his head. So Evie had given him one of her journals to write in, in an effort to ease the frustrations he felt when words otherwise failed him. He had always been the more articulate one, but Julia had been louder and more expressive so it had fallen a little into her shadow. But Jacob had noticed and he could only imagine what it must be like not being able to use that big vocabulary of his when it had otherwise always been his friend.

To keep him at peace he allowed Evie to keep Rory over more than often so Maxwell could recover and sleep and Mani didn't have to settle into the new environment in the presence of someone as unstable as Maxwell was currently.

Jacob found Maxwell sitting on his bed, eyes sunken in from too little sleep and even when he did he knew that it would only give him so much rest. He seemed much more of a little boy the way he sat there, with his knees up and his body that seemed way too big for him in that moment.

“Alright?” Jacob asked quietly when he sat by side and Maxwell nodded, answering with a barely audible alright. “Can I ask you a question?” Maxwell nodded again and Jacob took a deep breath. He had promised Evie to pry this out of him no matter the cost, but that didn't make it any easier. He didn't even want to consider that Maxwell could be like Jack, not even for a single second. But to rule that out, Evie had remarked, he had to ask him about his experience. “I know this is hard for you to talk about so it's alright if you only nod or shake your head.”

“Not hard,” Maxwell sighed. “I just don't know how to articulate it, it's like trying to describe a telephone to someone who doesn't even understand Morse code but you have to sign it.” Frustrated he pulled a face and Jacob answered with an apologetic smile.

“You could try...” He offered, but Maxwell only huffed and shook his head, muttering something that he couldn't understand. “Does it alter your vision?”

With a raised brow Maxwell lifted his head from where he had placed it on his knees. “It's not like eagle vision, I'd know how to describe that, I've read about that plenty of times… it's not an altered state of vision, it's...” He stopped himself and chewed his lip.

“Generally you're right, but there are rare cases where it comes in a more violent form… it's been described as overpowering and from the one case we know about it gives intrusive objectives to its owner, and–”

“It's not that,” Maxwell interrupted him more tired than angry. “It's not, I'd know… I think I'd know… why's Julia not here?”

“I'll make sure she finds some time for you tomorrow, okay?” Jacob promised quietly and ran a hand through Maxwell's damp hair. He'd been feverish most of the time, but he had tried to make a good impression in front of Julia. Perhaps so she wouldn't think her decision over and stay when she didn't really want to, but ultimately Maxwell seemed upset with himself for the very same reason.

He didn't have to ask her to come over, although it wasn't until almost a week later. Most of which Maxwell had spent curled up, exhausted and quite grumpy in his room. The only thing that appeased him was when George sat down and read to him till he fell asleep.

“What's wrong with him?” Julia asked when Jacob had led her away from his room and down into the kitchen. “What happened while I was gone?” There was accusation in her tone, but it wasn't pointed at anything in particular other than her own frustrations with the situation.

“We're… not sure yet...” Jacob replied quietly while he made her sit down and they were waiting for the kettle to boil. “He didn't want you to worry, so don't be too hard on him when he wakes up, alright?”

Julia huffed. As if it were rude for him to insinuate she'd do so. “And who's we? You and aunt Evie? Or you and George?” Jacob nodded before she got the last bit of her sentence out and Julia pulled her mouth to the side in thoughtful silence. She had grown so much, but somehow that only registered now after she had been gone for all these months. It was too easy to forget that she wasn't his little girl anymore. A little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I kind of… wanted to talk to you...” She said at last, leaning her head against her palm as her arm rested on the kitchen table.

“What about?” Jacob questioned, casually folding his arms but with no intention of shutting her down. “It's nice to have you back...”

“It's nice to be back home...” Julia admitted, smiling now. “I've missed everyone, but… after what happened at Stirling there have been whispers about Dover… nobody's been asked yet, they're all hush-hush about it but it's only going to be a matter of time now and I'd like to go, I won't even be alone this time I'll take Julian and Ada with me, if we're lucky they'll make up their mind before spring next year.”

“You get along rather well, don't you?” Jacob couldn't help but ask because if he didn't ask about them he'd have to face the inevitable which was that Julia wasn't going to stay in London. It didn't surprise him, he would have never been content with Crawley either so how could he even begin to expect her to be content with London and not want the world.

“Yeah, they're very lovely… you're going to like them, I think…” Julia smiled and blushed. She twirled a blonde strand of her in her fingers. “I… I'd like for everyone to get along… I just… don't really know how to say any of this, I didn't think this through, this is complicated,” she muttered and blushed a little more.

Jacob smiled. “You don't have to say anything,” he said as he approached her with slow steps so he could sit with her. “All I want is that you're happy and that at least you'll come talk to me when you think you're losing ground, but it would be very nice to get to know both of them.”

He had to promise her to tell her what was going on with her brother once they were sure before she disappeared back into his room.

Evie watched him as he came down the stairs. She held a small stack of books and files in her arms with a journal on top when Jacob quietly led her into the living room. It was the easiest way to have room for everyone, including Rory and Mani who were happily chatting away over a book. Fairy tales, Jacob noticed and couldn't help but smile.

George had to be included, he had insisted on that much, although he wasn't so sure if they should have any children around, but Evie had convinced Anima to come over and watch them. So it was all three of them over a stack of papers and Rory and Mani at the side, while Anima listened to their conversation with half an ear. Their father had always excluded them, much to their dismay but Jacob didn't see any reason to pretend. The Templars wouldn't care and he didn't like the idea of anything and everything being a big mystery. Rory and Mani surely would wander off once they decided that whatever the adults were talking about was boring enough.

“He's made it very clear that he doesn't think it's caused by any type of eagle vision…” Jacob said when he settled with Evie on the couch next to George who had been waiting for them.

“But he could be wrong, couldn't he?” George inquired.

Jacob weighed his head. “I doubt it, most people experience some kind of epiphany when it's explained to them, Maxwell didn't seem to have that, he said he'd know how to describe it and that this isn't it, I'd take his word for it.”

“There's little we can do either way,” Evie pointed out just as gently as she squeezed his arm. She placed the journal in his hands and watched as Jacob thumbed through it.

“François-Thomas Germain...” Jacob was pretty sure he'd butchered that name but that was the least important thing to him right now. “Who's that?”

“Germain was part of the Parisian Rite and the last recorded sage that we know of, mostly through the records or Arno Dorian, but contact with the French Brotherhood has been… unstable, at least it was at the end of the last century so when I joined they were still trying to smooth things out because Mr Dorian stirred up quite the conflict from what I've been told, we sort of intercepted some of their research but they've been very hush-hush about the sources of some of it so while we do know of Germain, we do not know how reliable all of this is,” George explained matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Evie confirmed with a slow nod. “But it's the best source we've got next to Bartholomew Roberts–”

“– the pirate?” Jacob remembered the name mostly in context with Edward Kenway and Mary Read. The Observatory had fascinated Clara much more than him, however.

Evie nodded again. “All of them describe having memories that they claim aren't their own, it's what led Roberts to the Observatory in Jamaica in the first place, but according to most sources they don't even gain those memories until they're in their early twenties, Roberts was almost forty when he became a pirate and what little survived of his record doesn't tell us a lot about when he gained those memories… he talks about being young but what's young for a pirate...” Evie sighed.

“Could be Maxwell's age just as much as the middle of his twenties or his early thirties...” George agreed while Jacob kept staring at the journal in his hands. Here and there he picked up half a sentence while his eyes scanned the pages.

“Not all of them were Templars...” Jacob reasoned. It sounded stupid and obvious now that he had spoken it but the confirmation felt good. “Then what's their connection?”

“Their experience,” Evie replied, leaning onto his shoulder.

But it was Anima who made him look up when she approached them and said. “A shared experience,” she said softly with that little accent that still lingered and Jacob had grown oddly fond of as it made her sound so endearing when she spoke, “like one mind that has been able to remember itself across lifetimes, I've heard Darshan talk about this, a long time ago, we've got good resources but not the best means to keep them up to date, I remember he talked about the pirate and two Frenchmen, he drew that conclusion from their records, you should write him if you want to know more… my memory fails me on the details, but he talked a great deal about their similarities.”

“A shared experience? You mean he's remembering someone else's life?” It didn't sound as fantastic to Jacob as his voice perhaps made it seem. He couldn't even feign surprise.

“Someone who's lived long before him,” Anima confirmed. “But I cannot say which he might remember and which not, perhaps you should ask your son about the Templar, he reads a lot but it is unlikely he knows him as well as your sister does.” It was then that Rory tugged at her sleeve proclaiming her and Mani were hungry so Anima trotted off with them to supply the food the two children had asked for.

The question that remained was how to help Maxwell if there even was anything they could do to help him because as of now it didn't seem that way. The one consensus they could find was that he had to be told the truth, no matter the concerns that Evie held Jacob didn't see any good in trying to shield him from what seemed to be inevitable.

“You two need to understand something,” Evie said when she straightened herself and made sure she had the attention of both Jacob and George, “if the Templars find out what he is, they will want to have him and if they can't have him they will want him dead, if they can't exploit his knowledge they might as well make sure we can't use it either – he's our most vulnerable target.”

 

_London, December 1889_

Aita. Roberts. Germain. That were the names Maxwell spoke the most of when he talked or wrote about the memories that weren't his. At all times he kept two journals. One messy with ink and tea stained pages and the other neat and clean that he would sometimes hand over for others to read. Writing was easier he said, a better way to get across what seemed to be so alien to the world he had to explain it to otherwise. It wasn't for a lack of words he said, it was simply easier to get across.

The word sage seemed to hold very little weight for him. Not as much as the people he spoke of.

Gradually his demeanour had changed and if his vocabulary had been extensive beforehand he now merely sounded like a boy of thirteen when he talked. It only seemed to be fitting that everything settled in the cold days of winter for someone as quiet as him. Julia had been given permission to leave by the end of the year, and of course Julian and Adelia would follow, although Maxwell seemed to care little for them, only bitter that his sister had to leave.

Jacob tried to use his name as often as possible. It was a small reminder that he was still his Maxwell, his son, his little mobsman who wasn't little at all anymore. Buried somewhere beneath the grand words and memories that didn't belong was his child and he didn't want to give him up. The little boy who had been scared of the dark way too many times and subsequently crawled into bed with him and George when he couldn't sleep. The little boy who had read all the books in his home by the age of ten and some of them twice.

It hadn't been his idea but Maxwell's explicit request to continue his training, and perhaps he hoped to ground himself in reality with the exercise but for all that Jacob could see it only caused a struggle in him.

“It feels like I'm losing myself like I'm not me at times even when I want to be, I don't trust the words that come out of my mouth.” Maxwell was sitting on their bed, like when he had been a child he had snuck into their room seeking comfort.

“Who does it feel like is talking?” George had been the one to answer while Jacob had been trying not to pick Maxwell up like he was no more than three and would most certainly still fit in his arms when he did not.

“Me… just, not me? Someone who was me aeons ago feels like it anyway...” He shook his head. “It's so tiring, sometimes I don't want to fight it… I just want to give up, no matter how much I want to remain myself.” Maxwell let himself sink onto the mattress. As a child he had always made room for himself to gain the most comfortable position, right now he seemed to be content just lying awkwardly between them.

There was an implication in his words that set the gears in Jacob's head in motion that night, but it was the middle of the night and all anyone wanted was to rest so he let the gears turn and the idea simmer.

The way Maxwell looked at him was as if he had expected the words long before Jacob had even thought about it. “At this rate, it doesn't matter what George and I do, the council will consider you too great of a risk to give you a blade...” As many times as Jacob had prepared the words in his head, they were still as hard to say as the first time he had thought of them. And the way Maxwell looked at him with more understanding than he could ever hope for made it all the worse. It wasn't the nice kind of understanding, it was the bitter kind of a shattered dream and broken heart.

“The name you gave me was a curse,” he said and pulled his mouth to the sides in dissatisfaction. “Don't reply to that.”

Jacob had opened his mouth but reconsidered when he saw Maxwell's eyes, only nodding in response now. “Well, you're lucky I'm your father and I don't like to do what other people tell me… otherwise, you wouldn't have the name you do,” he added with a sly smile after a moment of pause.

That was the first time that Maxwell looked at him interest as he took his eyes off the fire. “What do you mean?”

“You want to be an assassin? You're going to be an assassin Maxwell, just not… in the eyes of the council.” Maxwell raised a brow and Jacob smirked. “Do you really believe all that we are can be boiled down to a title and some fancy words? You're going to be free Maxwell, free from all stipulations and repercussions, but you can't tell anyone about this.”

“Not even Juli?” He used the nickname he'd given his sister as a child.

“Not even your sister, at least for now, they can't know what's going to hit them until it happens, so you have to play a little bit of pretend with me and George, so we can continue to train you – they can't really stop us from that, so there is little they will do other than grumble about it, but you can't let anyone know that you're in on this because that's when they'll try to take action.”

Maxwell clutched at the fabric of the blanket he had wrapped around himself while he stared at Jacob for a good long while. “Are you sure you want to do that for me?” He asked quiet, tentative and almost unbelieving, and for the first time in what seemed to be ages he sounded like the boy of thirteen that he was. When Jacob nodded he beamed from ear to ear.

“I'm on your side Maxwell, even when the Brotherhood won't be, cause you're my son, always remember that,” he said with a smile and ruffled his hair.

 

_London, February 1892_

Julia hadn't been home in a little more than three years and Jacob had gotten used to that. He had gotten used to Maxwell when he wasn't being much of Maxwell in those three years too. The lines that had seemed clear previously had become muddy for him, but Maxwell was eager to learn more than ever.

George had been the only one he'd told about his little plan, even Evie who had slowly migrated her way into the fold of the council in the past years didn't know. And while she was trying to make room for him for a seat next to her Jacob knew that he couldn't accept. Not as long as Maxwell was still being trained. With Evie in the fold of the council however, it was a little easier than expected to distract them from his plan. As long as Evie wasn't suspicious their questions were easily derailed as to what his son was up to.

He didn't have to lie a whole lot. There was always use in making sure their children had the means to defend themselves whether or not they ultimately joined the Brotherhood. Not to forget all the children Clara had sent their way over the years, which had drastically increased their numbers within just two decades to a more comfortable status quo, and they were quiet just like that.

Julia returned shortly after her birthday, still with Julian and Adelia in tow, and a lot of stories to tell and shared them huddled together and laughing with everyone who asked. George's implication about their relationship had always lingered in the back of his mind till Julia had confirmed it, although she wouldn't have needed to tell him. He could see it in the way they both flocked around her like she was the centre of their world. In the way, Ada rested her head on her shoulder when she was tired enough to fall asleep standing, and Julian brushed the hair from her face to get her attention because Julia never bothered to tie it up unless she absolutely had to. It were the little things like someone reaching out to grasp a hand and intertwining their fingers. Small gestures of affection that could easily get lost or mistaken, like when Julia fussed over Adelia's unruly short hair and she grabbed her face and squished it.

“So what brings you back to London?” Jacob couldn't help but ask.

“It's my home… occasionally I like to be home,” Julia replied. She sat next to Maxwell on his bed who had spent most of the day indoors, bothered by a cold but had finally found some sleep. “A sage, huh?”

She had taken the news in stride, with much more understanding than Jacob would have expected. Although he wasn't so sure what he had expected in the first place. “I'd rather have it he wasn't...” Jacob admitted with a quiet sigh and leaned against the doorway from where he watched them. Maxwell's legs lay across her lap and she idly ran her finger across them as if to soothe away the cold. “What will you do once you're done in Dover for good?”

“I'm not sure...” Julia replied quietly, then cleared her throat and added, “I'm not sure we're going to leave Dover anytime soon, they're looking to fortify it and I'd like to help when that happens, after that I'm not sure either.”

“I'm so proud of you… if only you could have your adventures in my reach...” A lopsided smile graced his lips and Julia laughed quietly, not to wake her brother.

“But that wouldn't be much of an adventure, would it?” Julia smiled, bright and happy.

 

_London, November 1892_

Jacob hadn't expected to see her again for at least another year, but Julia had written him a short note that she and Julian would return and that she wanted to be picked up from the station. While he waited for the train to halt and he searched for them in the crowd Jacob felt reminded of the day Evie had returned. The arrival that he had missed and that he now always anticipated when Julia announced them. Now he had Evie back and she wasn't even here because she had moved to Crawley with Anima and Mani soon after the council had taken her in. Much to Rory's dismay who had quickly befriended her little cousin and hadn't been happy at all that she needed an adult to accompany her to Crawley to visit him now. Even less happy that she couldn't borrow Maxwell for that explicit purpose either. It was exactly what big brothers were good for in her mind. But she was only twelve and Jacob couldn't dispatch an assassin each and every time she wanted to see Mani, so she had had to settle for letters.

Julia spotted him before he spotted her and dragged Julian by the hand like she always would. Like she had dragged Maxwell everywhere when he had been too little to be left alone. “It's so good to see you,” she laughed and fell around his neck.

He'd noticed the change in silhouette, but now that she was pressed against him he could feel the bump in her belly. “I wanted you to be the first one to know,” she grinned at his stunned face. “I'll tell you I didn't plan this break but at this rate, it's just too dangerous to stay in Dover for the moment,” Julia's mouth tugged upward. “I'm going to have a baby!” The way she smiled when she said it lit up her whole face and everything around it.

Jacob cupped her face and gently squeezed her cheeks. “That's fantastic, Jube,” he hadn't meant to use her nickname from when she had been little, it just came out and seemed to momentarily embarrass her but the joy on her face was so infectious he couldn't help but to share her smile. “You're going to make a great, mother.” Somebody had to believe it, he was sure of that because as the reality of her statement was sinking in Jacob couldn't help the plethora of fears that were crawling up his spine for utterly unrelated reasons. “So where did you leave Ada, I understand she'd want a part in this?”

“Still in Dover, helping clean up the mess the Templars left us,” Julian replied and pulled a face. “But she is dearly missed, I can assure you that.”

“You're here, that also counts,” Jacob reminded him and sighed. “C'mon let's get you somewhere safe.”

The descriptor adorable was to be used lightly around George, but he was exactly that when Julia brought the news to him. He had never once put into question whether or not he'd been fit to raise a child despite Jacob's expectations. Somehow it would have seemed just like him to question why he'd adopted Maxwell instead of giving him away, instead he had provided help when needed and accepted them as his own. Just like when they had still lived with their grandmother. George had always been there when he and Evie had needed him. Just like he'd been there when Julia and later her siblings had needed him, and when Jacob had still needed him although he hadn't been a child anymore. He'd needed him in different ways then.

George had a way with kids. They liked him, and he liked them and Jacob had always found it rather adorable to watch him interact with them. Wondering where all that patience went when it came to the rest of the world. It was certainly one of the things he loved about him.

“How are you holding up?” George patted his leg, and Jacob stretched out his legs, mirroring the gesture to return the favour and the foot rub. “Don't look at me like that, your mother died giving birth, you weren't present when Julia's mother was pregnant or when your daughter was born, now your daughter is pregnant, don't tell me you're fine.”

Jacob snorted quietly, leaning his shoulder against the back of the couch. It wasn't very infuriating at this point how easily George could see him through. For years it had bothered him whenever George had been poking around in the workings of his soul, but that had been before he'd moved to London, before Jack, before now. Now Jacob found it oddly reassuring whenever he didn't have to explain in minute detail. “I'm worried? What do you want me to say?” He sighed and closed his eyes. His fingers moved idly around his ankle.

“You tell me…” George replied. “But I don't want you to pass all that anxiety onto her, she'll be worried enough as it is, lucky for you there'll be two people hovering over her.”

Jacob smiled. “Lucky me,” he smirked and raised his chin, only to lean back against the couch. “It hasn't really sunken in yet… I'm scared I'll lose her, some part of me is, some other calls it irrational and stupid cause what are the odds, the odds are that it's how I lost my own mother and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, I worry that if I keep thinking about it it'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy, I don't want to lose her, George.”

“You're not going to lose her, darling, if anything she'll likely stay once the child is born because it's too dangerous to move back to Dover with an infant, this city is a safe haven compared to most other strongholds that we have and that's mainly your doing,” George replied, patting his foot.

The smile stayed. “I couldn't have done it without you, I mean it, if you hadn't been here I would have been too scared of what Jack might do...” Jacob couldn't finish that sentence so he didn't, merely sighed and let his shoulders sink. “I hope you're right...”

 

_London, January 1893_

Adelia had arrived shortly before the end of the year, but the way she was greeted clearly indicated that even that had taken way too long. Julia was rather frustrated with having to stay home, much like Cecily George remarked when Jacob told him about it and they all took turns keeping her company. Even Evie occasionally came to visit her once the news had reached her. Again George had been the one to ease the worry. If anything Jacob would have only mirrored the distress he had seen on his sister's face and in her posture if given the chance. After all, she had lost her own child and that was a whole other set of fears to be added to the pre-existing ones.

“How are you doing?” Jacob asked when he found her lying in bed against a stack of pillows.

“My back is killing me,” Julia groaned and rolled over, trying to curl up on his lap and failing. So Jacob helped her at least rest her head against his thigh, while he tried to rub the pain from her back.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked and Julia mumbled till he reached the spot. She sighed and closed her eyes and for a while, they remained like that.

“Do you really think I'm going to make a good mum?” She asked quietly, almost mumbled it against the fabric of his pants. As if she wasn't sure herself if she wanted him to hear the answer to her own question. “Everyone says I'll be fine, but what if I won't know what to do, what if it's too much, what if… I don't know, it feels like everyone is magically expecting me to know, you know everything, just because I'm the mother… but what if I don't?”

Jacob ran his hand through her hair, untangling several strands along the way and continuing the motion down her back. “When your mother was pregnant I didn't get to see her a whole lot, and then she didn't bring you over until you were three months old...” He began and rubbed small circled onto her shoulder blade. “So by the time I actually got to hold you for the first time, the whole concept of having a child had sort of… defused into this disjointed idea that was floating about somewhere in the back of my brain, that I knew was going to happen, I just didn't know when or how and we were so busy at the time, your aunt and me, that I barely got time to think about it in the first place, and I got scared that I would be just like my father, that I wouldn't have all the natural instincts parents seem to have, that I would somehow mess it up, that I wouldn't be enough or good enough, but… you were tiny,” Jacob took the hand off her back to show her just how little she had been and grinned when Julia frowned at the space between his hands, seemingly unable to comprehend that she had been this small once. “You were tiny,” he reiterated, “and dependant and your mother wasn't going to be there and Jack was nine already and I was scared of what he'd do when he'd find you, and...” Jacob shrugged and shook his head. “It's all right to be scared is what I'm trying to say, you don't have to know everything just yet, just be there when your child needs you.”

A little smile had been forming around the corner of her mouth and Jacob tugged a few strands of hair behind her ear. “You're going to be fine,” he assured her again. Julia sighed deeply and grabbed for his hand to place on her belly so he could feel the little kick of a foot. “I remember that… you kicked a lot, Val kept complaining,” he mused.

“Maybe I knew...” Julia replied, her eyes half closed. “But I'm not gonna leave my child, I don't want to be like mum.”

“You're not like your mother, not in the ways that you fear.” But Julia didn't seem convinced of that.

 

_London, March 1893_

Jacob hadn't ever really had to wonder what it must've been like for his father. Or for George, and he was more partial to George in this moment of hesitation that they shared when Adelia came running to say that the baby was coming. She was out of breath and barely stopped to deliver the news before she sprinted back so she could be at Julia's side.

He could feel his mind blanking, thoughts vanishing in the fog of nothingness once her words were starting to sink in. Evie, his thoughts trailed over to his sister. Evie always knew what to do. “It's gonna be alright...” Jacob said although he wasn't sure if it was meant for himself or for George who looked just as white in the face as Jacob felt. “She's young, she's in good care, nothing to worry.”

“Nothing to worry,” George parroted and Jacob squeezed his hand. Again, not sure who he meant to calm.

Unfortunately, Jacob had to realise when he saw his sister's face, it was that Evie wouldn't be able to calm his nerves either. None of them would be able to calm each other and that was a sorry fact. They were anxious and they couldn't help themselves for better or for worse, but they could help Julia and her partners. And that was what was unanimously decided on between them in that moment.

A little girl and a little boy were born in the middle of March and nobody died contrary to what anxiety had whispered in their ears. Lydia and West. Twins. Even smaller than Jacob remembered Julia being when he had first held her. About as small as he remembered Mani when Evie had first introduced him to the family.

They were loved and well cared for by all of their parents while Julia rested safe and sound and suddenly didn't seem all that eager to get back into the field. Rory didn't think much of her niece and nephew just yet, they were cute but she was thirteen and babies weren't exactly the most interesting to her when the world of the Brotherhood was just opening its doors for her, but she paid her sister visits all the same. Only Maxwell stayed away for the most part, it as only when Julia marched over and made him hold his niece that he couldn't get away. He had looked panicked at first but the gentle reassurance of his sister had eased some of it while he held Lydia.

 

_London, September 1894_

They were about a year and a half when the gears in Julia's head were starting to come to a halt. She had kept a close eye on her children just as much as her brother and something had been fermenting in her mind that she wouldn't talk to about with anybody. Not even Julian or Adelia. And that was kind of why it worried Jacob in the first place.

“You've made a decision.” He could read it on her face while Julia only stared at the two sleepy bundles on her lap. “You know you have my support whatever that decision is.”

Instead of responding Julia only hugged her children closer. Julian had fallen asleep on the couch next to her and Adelia was curled up on the other side. All three of them looked like they had been up for most of the night tending to their children but Julia was the only who couldn't seem to find sleep.

“I keep thinking, it might be a good idea to take Max to Dover,” she said quietly without looking up at him. “There's a lot of research there, a lot of field work too… there are some areas in the tunnels we can't figure out how to get to, and well,” she smiled at her children, “it's not Jamaica but it's something, you know? He's so stuck in his head, getting out of this place would do him some good I think.” But there was a catch. Of course, there was a catch. Jacob didn't want to think about the catch or the way it pained Julia to even think about it. “I can't let him go alone...” It was only now that she looked up at him.

“You don't need to do this...”

“It'd be a month at best, just a short while to see how it goes, and I'd make Julian and Ada stay so they wouldn't be alone,” she huffed in frustration. “It has to be me, else he won't go, I know it and London needs you, George needs you… it wouldn't be fair.”

“He's not your responsibility, not all that much.” Jacob sighed and got up to cross the small distance between them to place his hands on her shoulders. “Stay with your family if that's what you need, you're both young, this can wait.”

Julia pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It feels like he's running out of time… or maybe I am, I don't know how else to say it, and he's family too, he's my stupid little brother and Dover is an ongoing project, I've been there until recently if I bring Max along nobody will question it, it would be a good place to start… don't you think? And what's a month to a lifetime...” With a sigh, Julia sunk back, rocking the twins in her arms when they stirred and quietly fussed. A question lingered quite obviously on her mind but she wouldn't speak it, but Jacob didn't inquire after it either.

 

_London, March 1896_

Julia had taken Maxwell to Dover at the end of the year when the twins had been almost two. They had stayed for almost two months, while Julian and Adelia had stayed behind to care for the children. But even those two short months seemed to have been almost too much for Julia to bear as she seemed to forget everything else around her the moment she saw her children again. With laughter on her lips, she had pulled them into a hug, kissing their little heads and talking their ears off like she had so often she had been small and there had been no worries in her world.

For all that he could say Maxwell had liked Dover. Especially the tunnels under the castle. And of course its library.

The twins were three now, and while Evie surely had tried to prevent the ill-fated letters, Julia had been asked to leave again. Not a castle, but a city this time. And for all that she loved her children, Jacob could see it in her eyes that she wouldn't stay. It wasn't in her nature to stay in one place and rest idle and it would never be. Jacob understood as much, but of course Lydia and West had a wildly different opinion on that when they were left with their grandparents.

 

_London, August 1899_

A never-ending well of questions. That was the best way to describe Lydia at six. She thrived in trying to understand the world around her and asking holes into everyone she came across. Absorbing any and all information like a cute little sponge. She wasn't quiet like Maxwell had been at her age, but she showed a great deal of patience in observing the world. Taking after her uncle in that aspect who Jacob had had to coax into reading to the twins during their parents' great many absences. And while West would grow impatient after a while Lydia would sit on his lap, still and attentive, watching the pages turn with a fascination that Jacob only knew from Aleck. Needless to say, as soon as she had been taught to read she had begun to make her way through their library with Maxwell's help. Whether it was by reading to her or explaining a word (more than often three at once).

Impatient in the absence of his parents West would leave his sister to her books when they couldn't distract him anymore. It was a back and forth with him. Some days he was happy to sit with her and Maxwell for hours on end while on others he couldn't sit still. He shared his sister's inquisitive nature but would have much rather preferred their parents to answer their questions Jacob knew. Where Lydia seemed indifferent at best about the assassins beyond the knowledge gain West was intrigued. And while Jacob would have rather had the decision at the very least in Julia's hands it would be his to make if this went on and would go on the little voice in the back of his head whispered. Till Lydia and West were old enough to join their parents. But for now they were children and they didn't need to be anything more than that.

She would leave with Maxwell for Jamaica soon and for once Julian and Adelia would stay behind. Lydia would watch her mother board the ship very solemnly while holding her brother's hand as tight as she could, while he would try not to cry.

The night before Jacob would find her sitting at Lydia's bed, in which the twins were cuddled up under her blanket, while she was stroking their little heads as if to memorise the feeling.

“I never thought I'd say this, but I think I get it… sort of,” Julia said without looking up at him. Perhaps she had guessed that it could only be him. Or perhaps she had drenched her world in blue for a moment to know beforehand.

“Understand what?” Jacob asked quietly as he sat down with her on the edge of the bed.

“How you couldn't let go of Jack...” She replied with so much bitterness in her voice it hurt to the very core of his soul. “But I can't just let Maxwell go… I can't… and I want them with me, but they're so little and it's too dangerous and it makes me feel awful and like a horrible mother, I just want my little brother back… I want my children with me...” Julia pressed her face against his shoulder and cried silently, while Jacob held her close and kissed her head.

There was nothing he could say to make her stay. “I'll watch over them for you, don't you worry,” he mumbled. “Max is lucky to have a sister like you...” And Julia smiled through her quiet sobs.

 

_London, April 1903_

Inevitable. Jacob had learnt the meaning of that word long ago. Their father had been teaching them new words every day, every lesson, but he had done it like a teacher. So the new concepts had been nothing but weightless somethings in Jacob's mind till emotion added gravity.

Maxwell's death had been as inevitable as their own fathers but for utterly different reasons. The notion that he had done him a favour hadn't settled easy with Jacob. It hadn't been easy to admit to himself that he had blindly fallen for his taunt, although it couldn't have been clearer in retrospect. The night had been set up for him to end what he had begun and Maxwell had been the mastermind behind it all, drawing at the strings that would inevitably lead to Jacob's blade in his throat. A heartbreak in return for the chance to move on because he wouldn't change or perhaps he couldn't. Or hadn't wanted to. All that Jacob was sure of was that Maxwell had been exactly what he had needed, even on the day he had died. He had needed a villain, nothing more and nothing less and Maxwell had delivered with bravado.

Inevitably Maxwell had led him to George. Through the thicket of all things hushed and buried after his father's death. Hollow wounds. Old and new. George had been exactly what he had needed when he hadn't known what he had needed himself.

Jacob knew death. He knew it in the form of his targets giving their last breath and the light in their eyes dying. He knew it in the way of Nitya's breath becoming more and more shallow before it ultimately stopped and she had been lifeless in his arms. He'd known it as the calm of a storm after a long battle against your body in his father's case. The way satisfaction and relief had shaken his body when Starrick had given his last breath. Which paled in comparison to Jack's nauseating murders and the way he'd felt having to carry Lydia to her bathtub.

It was ruthless and bloody and had left its marks all over him. Some visible, other not. It wasn't gentle. Not to them. Assassins didn't die quietly in their sleep surrounded by their loved ones, but it had been kind to George.

Inevitable. Jacob had needed to remind himself of that. His death had been inevitable, expected even and yet Jacob was sure nothing could have had prepared him for it. For the absence of his presence in the following year and the way he still sometimes wanted to talk him.

He hadn't visited Maxwell's place in years and he didn't plan to, but Jacob liked to sit down in the middle of the night when everything was silent and almost everyone was asleep because when he concentrated he could summon the ghostly images of his memories and he could hear George's voice again. And for a moment missing him didn't hurt so much. For a moment it made everything alright.

He missed Nitya like he hadn't in many years and on some nights he went to find her and conjured up her image, smiling at him, trying to make it stand still but of course the memory never adhered his wishes. So she moved on and faded into nothingness and Jacob had to replay it. But she wasn't there. Just like Lydia Jack had taken her from him. If there was anyone he would have liked to have at his side since George's death it would have been her. Jacob wondered what she might have told him. He closed his eyes and let the ghostly memories disperse till it was absolutely quiet around him except for the sounds the house made. It was getting old, just like him. When he got up Jacob decided to write Karan.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for sticking around to the end with me till the end of this story. This was the first thing I wrote after a very, very long break of fanfiction so seeing your interest in my writing just made me incredibly happy. When I wrote this chapter, I realised I was kind of running out of plot for Jacob, who I wanted to remain the focus of this story, which is why this is the last one. However, if you're all interested, I could crank out some extra chapters focusing on the kids, primarily Julia and Maxwell and the baby twins. There is a lot more to tell about them.


End file.
